By the time the sky fully surrendered to dusk, Luke's stomach made its opinion painfully clear.
It wasn't a polite growl. It was the kind of hollow, echoing complaint that felt like his insides were folding in on themselves out of spite. He slowed mid-step, one hand pressing lightly to his abdomen as if that might negotiate a ceasefire.
"…Yeah. Okay," he muttered. "That's not getting ignored."
Ilyrana glanced at him, a faint curve forming at the corner of her lips.
"You've been quiet for nearly a minute. I was wondering when it would start."
Luke shot her a look.
"Excuse you. I can be stoic."
"You can," she agreed easily. "Just not when hungry."
That, unfortunately, was accurate.
