Azel cut through the garlic with swift, fluid strokes.
The sound of the blade striking the cutting board echoed with a rhythm so steady it could have been mistaken for music.
He didn't even look strained — his hand moved with precision, each clove reduced to neat fragments as though it were second nature.
Edna stood nearby, holding back a sigh.
She should have expected this.
Azel did everything with that same air of quiet competence.
Whether he was fighting, walking, or now, chopping garlic, he made it look effortless.
Her gaze lingered on his hand, the way his fingers curled around the knife, firm but relaxed.
She glanced at the onions laid out before her.
How difficult could it be?
'I can at least manage this,' she thought, squaring her shoulders.
She picked up one of the onions, clutching it with exaggerated seriousness.
The skin crinkled under her fingers as she set it down.
