[Ovelia’s POV]
The sharp, unexpected knocks splintered the thick tension in our private room. In an instant, Ray, Ann, Ace, and Gale all snapped to alertness. Their casual postures vanished, replaced by a hunter’s stillness. Four pairs of eyes—orange, black, silver, and gray—cut through the lantern-lit haze, locking onto the wooden door as if they could see through it. As Ray stood up, the movent fluid and silent, I found my left hand clutching the fairy stuffed toy in my lap, my fingers digging into its soft fabric.
We watched him, a silent audience holding its breath. The only sounds were the faint hiss of the hotpot and the frantic drumbeat of my own heart in my ears. Ray moved with a predator’s grace toward the door, his right hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his thumb caressing the guard. Every line of his body spoke of controlled readiness.
When he slid the door open, the tension didn’t dissipate; it rely changed shape. Standing in the corridor’s softer light was the sa young server, balancing a large wooden tray laden with five small ceramic bowls. In each bowl, a smooth, pale caral-colored pudding trembled delicately. He offered a bright, practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his tired eyes.
"Your complintary desserts are ready, honored guests," he announced, his voice cheerful and overloud in the quiet.
A wave of pure relief washed over , so strong it made my shoulders slump. It was just dessert. But when I glanced at the others, their caution hadn’t dissolved. Ace’s gaze was still sharp, assessing the server’s hands, his posture. Ann’s eyes tracked the young man’s every step as he entered. Gale watched with narrow-eyed suspicion, and Ray, though he stepped aside to allow entry, remained by the door, his position blocking a full view of the room from the hallway.
The server’s shoes whispered on the floor mat as he walked carefully to our table to set down the five puddings. The sweet, milky scent of egg custard and burnt sugar drifted up, a gentle intrusion. Ray slowly returned to his seat, though he didn’t relax back against the chair.
We watched in heavy silence as the server ticulously placed each bowl, setting a small porcelain spoon beside it with a soft click. He then began gathering our empty plates and used bowls, stacking them quietly on his tray. The clatter of ceramic was the only sound.
"Please enjoy your dessert," he said, bowing slightly, the smile still fixed on his face. "If you need anything else, please just call for ."
"Thank you," I said, forcing a small, polite smile onto my face. He returned it with a wider, more natural one, then backed out of the room, sliding the door shut with a soft, final shhh-click.
The mont the door was fully closed, the air seed to leave the room in a collective, audible sigh. Gale let out a long breath, slouching back against the chair. Ray’s shoulders dropped a fraction. Ann’s rigid spine softened. Ace slowly unclenched the fist that had been resting on the table.
The imdiate danger was past, but the ghost of the interrupted conversation still haunted the room, clinging to the sweet sll of custard and caral.
My curiosity, sharpened by fear and the sudden, violent reaction from Ace, wouldn’t be quieted. I turned to Gale, who was now staring intently at the pudding before him, but not with hunger. It was as if he were looking through it.
"Gale," I began, my voice tentative. He looked up, his gray eyes eting mine. "What were you going to say earlier? About werewolves and humans." I pressed on, needing to understand the source of the sudden, icy tension.
"Don’t think about it," he said, his voice uncharacteristically flat. He reached out and flicked my forehead with his fingertip. The touch was light, almost playful, but his expression was serious.
I rubbed the spot, though it didn’t hurt. "I need an explanation, you know," I insisted, but he had already turned away, ignoring as he lifted his broth bowl and took a sip of the last of his savory broth.
I turned my plea to Ray and Ann. Ray was thodically eating his pudding, his eyes fixed on the spoon as if it were the most fascinating object in the world. Ann was doing the sa, her movents precise and focused. They were deliberately not eting my gaze.
Finally, I turned to Ace, beside . He wasn’t eating. He was holding his spoon, the pudding untouched, his gaze fixed on the darkened window as if watching ghosts in the night. His profile was stern, the muscle in his jaw still faintly taut.
"Lady Firera," I thought, reaching inward. "Do you know what Gale was about to say?"
"Like that pesky fairy said," her voice ca, cool and firm in my mind. "Do not think about it. It is irrelevant to you."
But that couldn’t be true. Irrelevant things didn’t make Ace look like that—like he’d been struck by sothing invisible and cold. Why would Ace look so angry when Gale said ’werewolves and humans can’t...’? The unfinished sentence haunted .
"This pudding’s sweetness is balanced," Gale announced, breaking the heavy silence. He took a bite, his tone forcibly casual. "This restaurant knows how to make their desserts properly."
"I’m glad you like it," I said softly, looking at him. He t my eyes, and for a mont, I saw sothing there—an acknowledgnt, maybe an apology for the secrecy.
"Transforming to this size isn’t all bad," he mused, looking down at his human hand holding the spoon. "I can eat many different things." He looked back at , and his gaze held a weight of unspoken gratitude. "Thank you for the form that lets taste this," it seed to say. Then he gestured with his spoon toward my untouched bowl. "Why don’t you start eating yours?"
"Right, while it’s still chilled, my lady," Ann added, her voice gently encouraging, a clear attempt to steer us back to normalcy.
I picked up my own delicate spoon. I scooped a bite of the smooth, creamy pudding, the caral sauce swirling into the pale custard. I brought it to my mouth. The texture was perfect—silky and rich, with a deep, eggy sweetness. The burnt-bitter note of the caral on top cut through the sweetness, creating a complex, satisfying balance. "You’re right," I said, a real smile touching my lips despite the worry. "It’s delicious." I took another bite.
I saw them all offer small smiles in return—Gale’s a brief twitch, Ann’s a gentle curve, Ray’s a shadow of his usual grin. But the warmth didn’t reach their eyes. A cold certainty settled in my stomach alongside the sweet pudding. They were hiding it from . Whatever truth Gale had been about to reveal, they had collectively decided, without a word, that I should not hear it. That they felt the need to only made the mystery colder and heavier.
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