Damon pushed open the front door with his foot, his muscles still tense after hours of training. The warm smell of spices, something between garlic and fresh herbs, filled the air as soon as he entered. It wasn't usual. Aria was usually the one who cooked.
As he walked down the narrow hallway, he found only one person in the kitchen—Ester.
She was facing away from him, wearing a light apron over her casual clothes, her long hair tied up in a makeshift way. The afternoon light streaming through the window cast a soft glow on her shoulders.
Damon paused for a second, surprised to see her there. Ester rarely cooked. Or rather—rarely did anything that involved standing still long enough to occupy herself with household chores.
"Isn't Aria here?" he asked, dropping his gym bag in the corner.
Ester didn't look at him, continuing to chop vegetables with movements too precise for someone who "didn't like" to cook.
