The kitchen did not break when Oda disappeared, and that was precisely what made it dangerous.
Work continued as if nothing had changed. Bread came out of the ovens in steady intervals, broth simmered in the large iron pots, and knives struck wood with the same dull rhythm that had always defined the space. Anyone standing in the doorway without context would have seen routine, not disruption. Yet the longer Sable stood there, the more clearly she felt the imbalance spreading through the room, subtle enough to avoid panic but deep enough to alter behavior.
