The scent of spices floated through the house like a soft blanket, warm and nostalgic.
The sun had begun its descent, stretching golden rays across the wooden floor, casting slow-moving shadows that danced quietly on the walls.
Billy plated the food with care, his bandaged finger moving just slightly slower than the rest.
He stole a glance at Artur—who still hadn't said much since sitting down, but his body had softened. Less rigid now. Less angry.
He set the two plates down on the table, the steam rising gently from the rice and sautéed vegetables. A simple meal, but made with quiet attention.
Artur eyed the food with reluctant approval.
"Didn't poison mine out of revenge, did you?" he asked dryly.
Billy chuckled, sliding into the seat opposite him. "No. But if you eat too fast, I'm not responsible for what happens."
Artur cracked a small smile, the last traces of his grudge slowly fading into the warmth of the room. He picked up his spoon and took a bite—then paused.
