All four of them.
My pack.
The thought still feels impossible.
Like trying on shoes that don't quite fit, or speaking a language I only half-understand. I know the words, know the motions, but themeaningbehind them—the weight of belonging to something, of being claimed, of mattering to people who chose me instead of being stuck with me?—
That part hasn't settled yet.
Maybe it never will.
One-two-three-four.
My toe taps against the floor beneath the table.
One-two-three-four.
The rhythm is comforting. Familiar. An anchor in a sea of unfamiliar experiences.
Like this dinner, for instance.
The table ismassive.
Dark wood, polished to a gleam, stretching out in both directions like it was designed to seat a small army. The surface is covered with food—actual, proper,realfood—in quantities I haven't seen since I was a child sitting at my parents' table.
Steak, cooked to various levels of doneness.
Roasted vegetables glistening with butter and herbs.
Fresh bread, still warm, in a basket lined with cloth.
Salad that looks like it came from an actual garden instead of a vacuum-sealed bag.
Potatoes, mashed and creamy, steaming gently in a serving dish.
And wine—bottles of it, red and white, positioned at intervals along the table like sentinels.
My stomach growls.
Loudly.
The sound is embarrassing—the bodily betrayal of someone who's been living on academy cafeteria food and whatever she could scrounge from her limited budget. I've beenstarving, I realize. Not in the dramatic sense, not in the immediate danger sense, but in the slow, grinding way that happens when you're too busy surviving to remember that you need to eat.
I grab a roll from the basket.
Tear off a piece.
Stuff it in my mouth.
Heaven.
The bread is soft, still warm from the oven, with a slight crust that yields perfectly under my teeth. I close my eyes for a moment, letting the simple pleasure of good food wash over me.
When was the last time I ate something that wasn't designed for efficiency over taste?
When was the last time I sat at a table like this, surrounded by people who weren't actively trying to hurt me?
The answers are both the same: ten years ago.
