I got home a little earlier than usual. Not early-early, just the kind of early that meant the elevator didn't smell like coffee anymore and the lobby security actually looked awake.
The door clicked open—and the first thing I noticed was the smell.
Garlic, onions, something sautéing, and the faint hiss of heat against a pan.
Val was cooking.
Not unusual—she cooked often enough—but the smell hit me first, warm and familiar, and it made the apartment feel instantly alive.
"Val?" I called, dropping my bag by the wall.
"Kitchen!" she shouted back.
I followed the voice—and there she was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely, one hand holding a wooden spoon like it personally offended her. Aline was chopping something beside her, humming softly. Duchess sat at her feet, tail flicking, staring up like a tiny, demanding supervisor.
Val glanced over her shoulder. "You're back early."
"Yeah," I said, leaning on the doorframe. "You're back early too."
