My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

The marble kitchen chamber had never felt so cavernous. Too much white stone, too much firelight from the furnace, too much silence.

Marron hated silence. It made her think. And thinking led to shaking.

So she didn't give herself the chance. She pulled what she needed from her stores—moonwheat flour, sugar, butter wrapped in wax paper, a precious bar of shadowcacao. Her hands moved on autopilot, measuring, sifting, creaming. The rhythm she'd leaned on all her life.

"You're baking?" Lucy's voice cut the silence like a blade. She stood in her humanoid form, arms folded, daggers at her hips. "Right now? Seriously?"

Marron didn't look up. She cracked eggs into the bowl, whisked until they foamed. "Some people drink when they're stressed. Some people eat. I bake."

Lucy stared at her like she'd grown a second head. "We're waiting for them to—" She stopped. Couldn't say it.

"I know what we're waiting for." Marron grated the shadowcacao, the rich dark scent blooming in the air. "That's exactly why I'm baking. The chocolate will make us feel better."

Lucy huffed but drifted closer, her translucent skin catching the firelight. She watched Marron work for a long moment, then muttered, "Your hands aren't shaking."

"That's the point." Marron folded the grated chocolate into the batter. "My hands don't shake when they're busy."

Elena hovered on the other side of the counter, fingers twisting the hem of her apron. She looked like she wanted to say something but kept swallowing the words. Finally, voice thin as thread: "What are you making?"

"Chocolate lavender cupcakes." Marron spooned batter into small stone molds she'd found in the cabinets. "With whipped frosting. Simple enough to keep my mind quiet."

Elena's gaze followed her hands like she was watching a lifeline. "Lavender with chocolate? Does that… work?"

"The sweetgrass lavender from the northern valleys?" Marron sprinkled dried purple buds into the remaining batter. "Perfectly. The floral cuts through the richness. Keeps it from being too heavy."

That seemed to settle something in Elena. She asked another question. Then another. What temperature for baking, how much lavender was too much, whether you could substitute honeysugar for regular. Small, careful questions that reminded her she was still a chef, no matter what else she'd learned about herself.

Mokko stood guard near the passage where the Lieutenant and Halloway had disappeared with the Captain. He kept shifting his massive wooden spoon from one hand to the other, the way other men might pace. Every time Marron glanced over, he was watching her with worried softness that didn't match his bulk.

"You should eat something, Marron," he rumbled. "You haven't stopped moving since they left."

"I'll eat when I can taste again." She slid the molds onto a flat stone near the furnace's edge—not close enough to burn, just enough to bake. "Right now everything tastes like fear."

The minutes crawled. Marron whipped cream with cloudmilk and vanilla until it formed soft peaks, cleaned her workspace twice, rearranged her tools. The scent of baking chocolate drifted through the chamber, warm and almost comforting. The furnace glowed behind her like a star, hungry and patient both.

Nobody spoke of what was happening in the side passage. Nobody asked how long it took to kill a man who'd lived his whole life on cruelty.

The cupcakes finished baking. Marron pulled them from the heat, let them cool just enough, then piped swirls of whipped frosting onto each one. She ate one standing up, barely tasting it at first—then the chocolate hit her tongue, rich and grounding, and something in her chest loosened just a fraction.

Better. Not good, but better.

Elena finally broke the silence, her hands shaking too badly to stay still. "Do you think… does it hurt? What they're doing?"

Marron swallowed her bite of cupcake. She didn't want to picture it, didn't want the images crowding in. But Elena's wide, trembling eyes demanded an answer.

"It should hurt," Lucy said flatly.

Marron's voice came out rough. "If it doesn't hurt, it wasn't enough."

Silence after that. Only the soft crackle from the furnace, the sweet dark smell of chocolate and lavender.

Then—sound. From the passage. Footsteps.

Mokko straightened, spoon gripped like a weapon. Lucy's daggers slid free with a whisper. Elena froze, staring toward the shadows. Marron's pulse jumped, but the chocolate in her system kept her steady.

The steps were deliberate, controlled. Not the Captain's frantic scramble.

Guildmaster Halloway emerged first, cloak drawn close, weathered face grim. Behind him came the Lieutenant, not a hair out of place, posture cold as ever.

They stopped at the edge of the kitchen. Halloway carried something—a package wrapped in clean cloth, neatly tied. He set it on the counter without ceremony.

The silence stretched tight.

Marron couldn't take it anymore. "It's… done?"

Halloway nodded once. "It's done."

No flourish. No details. Just fact.

The Lieutenant gestured to the package. His voice was flat, clinical. "Mimic meat. Mild flavor profile. Similar to poultry in texture and taste. Accepts marinades efficiently."

Marron stared at the wrapped bundle. Her stomach should have turned. Her hands should have shaken.

But the chocolate worked through her veins, warm and steadying, and all she could think was: I really wish I didn't know how the sausage was made.

She took a breath. Reached for the package. The cloth was spotless, the wrapping careful—professional, even.

"Thank you," she heard herself say. Then, because she didn't know what else to do, she gestured to the cooling cupcakes. "Would you like one? They're still warm."

Halloway accepted without hesitation, peeling back the paper wrapper with careful fingers. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded. "Good work, Chef."

The Lieutenant stared at the offered cupcake like it was a puzzle he couldn't solve. Finally, he picked one up. Sniffed it. His pale eyes narrowed slightly—not suspicious, just… curious.

He took a bite.

Marron watched color bloom in his face. Faint, barely there, but real. Like blood returning to frozen skin.

Huh, she thought. I wouldn't have guessed a mimic to react that way. I thought he'd just be bloodthirsty.

But maybe that was the Captain's influence. Maybe that's what happened when cruelty led instead of hunger, when violence became the point instead of survival.

The Lieutenant took another bite, slower this time. He didn't smile—Marron wasn't sure he knew how—but something in his shoulders eased.

Maybe things could be different someday.

The world hadn't ended in that passage. But something had.

The furnace behind her flared once, impatient, reminding them all there was still work to do.