Freya stood by the stove, the eye mask plunging her into darkness, her senses razor-sharp as she tuned out Kael's presence—or lack thereof.
Where even is he?
She wouldn't waste energy chasing his tricks today; the ribs were her battlefield, and victory was her only goal.
To make a dish which kicked his lame cooking's ass.
Her hands moved with experienced precision, grabbing a heavy skillet, the cool metal grounding her as she poured in a generous glug of oil.
She set it over medium-high flames, the faint hiss of heating oil filling the kitchen, mingling with the Haven's quiet hum.
She smelled the scent of spices—salt, pepper, paprika—clung to her fingers, a reminder of her focus, her control.
The oil popped, ready, and she reached for the ribs, her movements steady—until...
A sudden touch grazed her underboobs, warm and sensual, giving her a slight shiver.
