Rachel had finished plating the eggs, each serving perfectly portioned and still steaming from the pan. The golden yolks were intact, the whites cooked to just the right consistency—it was remarkable how she managed to maintain such culinary standards even with our limited resources and the ancient equipment in this house.
I took my first bite, savoring the familiar comfort of a well-prepared breakfast. "Once again, it's delicious, Rachel," I said, making sure my appreciation was clear in my voice.
"Thanks," she replied with a smile as she settled into her own seat with her plate.
I found myself smiling back naturally, caught up in the simple pleasure of the moment. But when I became aware of Rebecca's pointed stare from across the table, my smile faltered slightly, and I looked away. There was something in her expression—suspicions and wariness.
