The next morning, Eli's alarm cut sharply through the quiet house. He dragged himself out of bed and straight into a cold shower, using the icy shock to burn away the last remnants of sleep. He brushed his teeth, threw on his clothes, and systematically pocketed his phone, wallet, and keys—the exact, robotic routine of a man used to living entirely alone.
But the moment he stepped out of his bedroom, the familiar silence was gone. A soft, rhythmic sizzling sound was drifting down the hallway, accompanied by the rich, savory aroma of toasted garlic and warm rice.
Slowly, Eli walked toward the kitchen.
Ceres stood at the counter, a pale apron tied neatly around her waist. Her back was to him as she concentrated entirely on her task, deftly dividing food into separate containers. She was making bento boxes—not just for breakfast, but for lunch, too.
