The smell in the kitchen grew richer as the food progressed, and the small family gradually settled into the kind of easy comfort that only made sense to those who lived inside it. No one here was pretending the evening had started without strain. Fang was still distracted. Ren was still watchful. But the act of cooking together, of feeding the babies, of turning the day back into something ordinary, was itself a form of protection.
When the meal was nearly ready, Fang finally spoke again, in a lower voice meant only for Ren.
"I want to check the wards after dinner."
Ren did not look up from what he was doing. "I know."
"I do not want to wait until morning."
"I know that too."
Fang hesitated, then added, "It felt close."
Ren's hand paused for the briefest moment before resuming its movement. "Then we will not wait."
Fang glanced at him. "You say that as if it is nothing."
