“He is not,”Sevsaid, frowning.
Ravik gave him a wounded look.
“I am better than you.”
“You think everything is improved by adding smoked fire-root and twice as much salt as necessary,”Sevpointed out.
“Itis,”Raviksaid earnestly.
“It isnot,”Sevasserted, but he couldn’t help feeling a tiny bubble of joy in his heart.Thiswas an old argument between them—one he had feared they would never have again.
Cassandra held up both hands to stop them.
“All right, enough—before this turns into some kind of alien cooking competition, let’s all remember thatIam starving, infected, exhausted, and wearing a blanket as formal dinner attire.Sounless one of you has a better idea, we are making bunker stew and everyone is going to pretend it’s delicious.”
Ravik nodded.
“Bunker stew is good.”
“You’ve never had it before,”Sevpointed out.
“Mate makes it.Itis good,”Ravikrumbled with utter certainty.
Cassandra stifled a laugh as she turned abruptly back to the pot.
“Fine,” she said toRavik.“Thenyou can open those tins of fen pods, since apparently you’re the helpful one.”
Ravik moved at once, picking up the tins and tearing the lids off with his bare hands beforeSevcould tell him to use the opener.
Cassandra stared, her eyebrows climbing high.
“Well, that’soneway to do it,” she remarked.
“Efficient,”Raviksaid solemnly.
“Messy,”Sevcorrected, watching yellow oil drip all over the counter.
Ravik ignored him and looked toCassandrafor approval.
“I am helpingMate, just like she asked.”
The curvy little human sighed and pushed a folded cloth toward him.
“Wipe it up, big guy,” she ordered, pointing at the spill.
Ravik obeyed at once, without complaint.
Sev stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching the impossible domesticity of the scene unfold.Cassandrastirred the pot with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders andRavikwiped the counter with great seriousness while the room filled with the warm, savory smell of broth stones dissolving intokareth pearlsandfen pods.
It should have been absurd—itwasabsurd, he told himself.
But after months of fear, failed experiments, rotting death outside the bunker, andRavik’ssteady decline into silence, the sight of his friend standing in a kitchen and “helping” to make stew felt almost unbearable.
Because it meant hope…dangerous, fragile, scientifically inexplicablehope.
Severin looked atCassandraagain.Shewas muttering to herself as she added the green herb mix, her hair still damp fromRavik’sembrace, her cheeks flushed, her curves swathed in one of their gray thermal blankets like some annoyed household goddess who had accidentally wandered into theirFoodPreparea and started cooking for lack of anything better to do.
The scene madeSevrealize all over again that the antiviral serum he’d concoctedhadn’tsavedRavik.
