The morning air in Elandra was unusually crisp, a cool breeze slipping through the window shutters and gently ruffling the curtains. Inigo stood barefoot in the kitchen, tying the apron around his waist as the smell of cooking oil began to fill the room. Today's breakfast had a mission behind it—one that went beyond full stomachs.
He glanced at the clock. Just past eight. Early enough that the city was only beginning to stir.
Behind him, Lyra shuffled into the room, rubbing her eyes and yawning. She wore one of his oversized tunics and a pair of soft pants that reached her ankles. Her hair was a tousled mess, but her eyes lit up the moment she spotted what was happening on the stove.
"Another silog morning?" she asked, voice still raspy with sleep.
"Damn right," Inigo said with a smirk. "Thought I'd make longsilog again. Can't go wrong with that one."
