"You know what? I'm not cooking. I'm not your damn servant!" he barked, his voice louder than the forest deserved. "Why am I always the one slaving over the fire? Huh? Anyway—" he lifted his chin, smirking, "I can eat raw meat. Not my problem."
He turned his back with exaggerated flair, crossing his arms, lips curling into a smug smile. One… two… three… she'll snap. She has to snap.
But instead of fire, he got water.
Kaya silently bent down, picked up the wood he'd tossed, and placed it back into the flames. Her face didn't change, not a flicker of irritation, not even the roll of an eye.
"Okay," she murmured, almost too softly, and began stirring the pot.
Veer froze.
He slowly turned his head, eyes narrowing at her calm, steady movements. The firelight painted her expression gold, but it was empty, distant. She stirred the soup like a ghost, like she wasn't even here.
A shiver slid down Veer's spine, unfamiliar and unwanted. He found himself grinding his teeth again.