Sylvain woke before the alarm, his body moved on autopilot—down to the kitchen. His movements were slow and mechanical as he prepared breakfast.
He cracked two eggs into the pan, watching them sizzle as they fried. The toaster popped up with two slices of bread, which he buttered carefully. It was a simple meal of toasted bread and fried eggs — nothing fancy, but it was all he could manage in his current state.
He plated the food neatly for Silas and placed it on the dining table. For himself, he made a smaller portion, though his appetite was nonexistent. He sat down across from where Silas would sit, staring at his plate without really seeing it.
Silas emerged from the bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in a crisp shirt and trousers. He sat down at the table without a word at first, picking up his fork and knife.
He took a bite of the eggs, chewing slowly.
"It's edible today," Silas commented, his tone neutral. "You're improving. Or at least not burning everything."
