Besides Niomi and Devrok, Damien had also invited Amyra to witness what real cooking looked like.
After all, he had a vendetta to settle—with the abomination known as "soup."
You don't call a few soggy meat chunks swimming helplessly in lukewarm water food. That was a war crime.
All three of his guests sat at the long wooden dining table, anticipation rising with every passing second. The soft golden candlelight cast flickering shadows across their faces, highlighting the silent tension in the room.
Niomi's eyes remained fixed on the dish Damien had prepared. Her gaze was ravenous, a glint of childlike hunger flashing behind her usual grace. A thin string of moisture pooled at the corner of her mouth, and she didn't even realize it.
Damien noticed, of course, and his lips curved into a warm, self-satisfied smile. Without hesitation, he picked up a serving spoon and gently placed a generous portion of tender, honey-glazed meat onto her plate.
