Nova sat at the dining table. The wooden chair creaking slightly under his slight weight.
The table was covered with a simple checkered cloth, and the air smelled warm and rich—grilled fish, butter, fresh bread, herbs, and something sweet underneath it all. In front of him was a modest plate: grilled salmon with crispy skin, a heap of roasted root vegetables glazed with honey, a thick slice of crusty bread still warm from the oven, and a small bowl of creamy fish stew that steamed gently.
Beside him—perched proudly on the very edge of the table—was Sera.
A whole salmon—pink, glistening, perfectly cooked—lay on a plate just for her. No bones. No scales. Just soft, flaky meat that fell apart at the slightest touch. The fish was bigger than her head, and her green eyes were so wide they looked ready to pop out. Her pupils had dilated into huge black pools, tail flicking back and forth so fast it blurred.
Nova's own eyes were doing the same thing.
They stared at the food.
