Beli always lingered, like a ghost supervising her portions.
One evening, when the galley had quieted and the others had drifted toward rest, Lyn remained behind, wiping down the wooden counters with gracious care. The room smelled of broth, faintly sweet, with traces of lemon-ash spice still clinging to the air.
She turned toward the small drawer with the glowing latch, the one Beli had carved for her. Inside were a few neatly folded cloths, a pair of cooking blades, and a spice vial she'd refilled twice already.
Beli's voice came from the far corner, where he stood near the flame-cage's dying embers.
"You've made this place steadier."
Lyn blinked, not startled, just caught off guard that he'd spoken. "It's just food." What surprised her more was seeing him there at all. The kitchen was far from his usual domain. She had learned long ago that when a man appeared somewhere he had no business being, it wasn't the place drawing him. It was the people.
