The soft clatter of utensils from the kitchenette gradually gave way to the rich, savory aroma of cooking food. Dori moved with quiet efficiency, her gentle hands coaxing warmth from simple ingredients while Zoe stood silently beside her—cutting vegetables with precise, economical movements that would have looked more at home on a battlefield than in a kitchen.
Emma remained buried under her blanket, only her red hair visible as a bright splash against the faded fabric. Her breathing had evened out, the earlier teasing fading into the slow rhythm of someone genuinely resting.
Fey had gone completely still near the window, her eyes closed, her posture relaxed. Whether she was asleep or simply in that state of efficient rest she favored, it was impossible to tell.
