Robb sat comfortably at the small kitchen table, his mustache twitching as he chewed slowly, savoring the food placed in front of him. The other officer, stiff-backed and silent, sat beside him with the posture of someone still on duty, fork untouched. Across the kitchen, the faint hiss of the stove had faded; Franz had just finished plating breakfast. Lena and Emphera, having been sent to freshen up, were still out of sight.
The scent of garlic, herbs, and eggs hung thick in the air. The simplicity of the dish didn't match the complexity of the flavors. Robb let out a satisfied hum, setting his fork down for a moment.
"This," he said with surprising warmth, "is really good. Better than anything I've had since my sister's cooking."
Franz didn't respond right away. He stood with his hands braced on the counter, blue eyes lowered, as if considering whether he should even acknowledge the compliment. Finally, he gave the smallest of nods.
"I'm glad it suits your taste."
