[As Liem talks to Carmine, sipping at his tea and waiting for her to finish her breakfast, he can’t help but pay a little closer attention to her, drawn in by something about her demeanour. It seems painted-on somehow, the movements of her body and face just slightly out-of-tune with the quiet rhythm of her pulse, and with the scent that wafts his way when she moves.

It doesn’t necessarily need to mean anything; she’s probably tired and ill-at-ease and trying not to show it. But he files the information away nonetheless.]

By some people’s reckoning, [he allows, to answer her question. He’s rarely had occasion to appreciate the things he makes, but he’s received compliments on his cooking a time or two before.

When she pauses, he fills the brief silence with a raise of an eyebrow.]

Then the next time I cook something, perhaps I’ll ask for your opinion. Just to be sure.