A few hours after Kiera's call, Raya finally left the room.
Staying locked up there was doing nothing but feeding her anxiety. The silence pressed too tightly against her thoughts, and the walls felt smaller the longer she remained inside them.
So she went downstairs.
The mansion was quieter in the evening, the kind of quiet that came from wealth rather than peace. Soft lights glowed along the corridors, footsteps muted by expensive carpets, the air faintly scented with polished wood and something floral she couldn't name.
Raya headed straight for the kitchen.
She needed to do something.
They said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.
She scoffed inwardly at the thought.
She couldn't cook to save her life.
Burnt rice, oversalted soup, half-baked attempts, she'd failed at all of it at one point or another. Cooking for Adrian Blake would be an insult, not a gesture.
But there was one thing she could do.
Coffee.
That, at least, she knew.
