Johnn didn't just eat; he devoured the stew as if he were trying to reclaim a piece of a life he thought he'd lost. Halfway through the bowl, he paused, a thick wooden spoon halfway to his mouth. A bead of moisture escaped his eye, tracking through the soot on his cheek before hitting the broth.
He didn't bother to wipe it away. The flavor, the warmth, the sheer care that had gone into the preparation, it was an echo of a kitchen he hadn't sat in since he was a boy. He could almost hear his mother's humming, feel the safety of a home that had long since been burned to ash by the very kinds of monsters he now spent his life hunting.
Maddy watched him, her own movements slow and deliberate. She noticed the way his throat hitched, the way he looked at the steam rising from the pot as if it were a ghost.
"Why the tears, Hero?" she asked, her voice dropping into a dry, teasing cadence. "There's no Green Men in that bowl. I told you, I have standards."
