I woke up to the smell of bacon and the sound of arguing.
Not angry arguing. The kind of arguing that happens when two people who care about each other disagree about something stupid. Comfortable arguing. Domestic arguing.
The kind of arguing that meant Mera and Cheon were both in my kitchen at the same time.
My body felt like someone had wrung it out like a wet towel and then left it to dry in the sun for three days. Every muscle ached. My head throbbed with the particular flavor of Essentia depletion that I'd come to recognize over the past few weeks. The drain sat quiet in my chest, barely a whisper of its usual hunger.
Five percent reserves. Maybe six if I was being generous.
I'd pushed harder last night than I ever had before. Poured everything I had into a stranger because the alternative was letting a scared kid die inside a prison my father had built.
Worth it.
Still felt like garbage though.
"The eggs are burning."
"They're not burning. They're caramelizing."
