Kaelen's POV
The kitchen before dawn carried a different scent than it did during busy hours. Gone was the warm aroma of fresh-baked bread that usually filled the air. In its place hung the sharp bite of coffee, cutting through the stillness and settling at the back of my throat like a warning.
I lingered in the doorway, cradling the heavy pot against my chest, and hesitated.
The head chef spotted me immediately. Her experienced eyes dropped to what I carried, and understanding flickered across her weathered face.
"Alpha Kaelen," she said, setting down her mixing bowl with careful precision. "You've finished?"
"I need assistance with presentation."
A knowing smile tugged at her lips. Nothing dramatic, just the quiet recognition of someone who understood what mattered. "Naturally."
