The last dinner before Kael returned to the Tower was quieter than it should have been.
Celestine had tried to make it normal.
That was the painful part.
She cooked more food than two people needed, even though Kael had told her they could order whatever she wanted. She insisted on using the new kitchen herself, learning where the knives were, where the plates had been placed, how the expensive stove worked, and which cabinet hid the spices. The penthouse had a kitchen large enough to make their old apartment look like a cruel joke, and for most of the evening, she moved through it with stubborn focus, as if preparing dinner properly could delay the clock by a few hours.
Kael helped where he was allowed.
Mostly, he was told to sit down and stop hovering.
So he sat at the counter and watched his mother cook.
It was such a simple thing.
