The kitchen had become a battlefield of a different kind.
Plates were stacked in precarious towers, their surfaces slick with the remnants of the meal. Glasses huddled together, their rims stained with wine. Pots loomed at the back of the counter, their depths dark and forbidding, the ghosts of sauces and stews still clinging to their sides.
Arkai stood at the sink, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hands submerged in water that had long since gone cold.
He remembered the faces of the people he loved still glowing with laughter.
Especially at Cecilia's triumphant smile after she had finally managed to win a round and made everyone swear she was the best Uno player in the world, which she was not, but they had all agreed anyway, because it was easier, and because her joy was worth more than the truth.
Also his father's incredulous smile right beside her.
And now he was here, replaying everything that should've been impossible in the real world.
