The morning light streamed through the windows, cutting the air into golden streaks. The smell of freshly baked bread and fresh coffee filled the still-silent house. Damon descended the stairs slowly, his heavy steps betraying his restless sleep. When he reached the kitchen, he found Ester at the table, placing the last slices of bread on a plate.
"Good morning," she said, without looking at him, adjusting the sleeves of her white shirt.
"Good morning," he replied, his voice hoarse. "Do you always wake up before everyone else?"
"Someone needs to keep the house running."
Damon pulled up a chair and sat down. He watched her for a few seconds—her calculated movements, her restrained gaze, her straight posture as if she were always on alert. A slight smile formed on his lips.
"It was a… noisy night," he commented, resting his chin on his hand.
Ester stopped what she was doing for a moment. The sound of the knife against the plate ceased. "Oh, really?"
