Chapter 7

Anne woke to the feeling of warmth.

Not the suffocating kind—not the feverish heat of too many bodies crammed together, or the sticky, smothering press of Blackmire's ever-present humidity.

No, this was different.

This was gentle.

Light slipped in through the gaps in the curtains, streaking the room in muted gold. It wasn't much—just enough to remind her that morning had come. Just enough to warm the parts of her still curled up against the cold.

Somewhere nearby, laughter.

Muffled, soft. Not loud enough to be in the room, but close enough that it carried through the walls.

She didn't move. Not yet.

Her body felt heavy—not from exhaustion, for once. Not from dread.

Just… a quiet kind of weight. The kind that pressed her down instead of in.

It was strange.

For a moment—just a moment—she let herself rest in it.

The quiet.

The slow, steady rhythm of her heart.

The cool air against her skin, the not-quite-soft, not-quite-rough feeling of the blanket draped over her.

She didn't remember pulling it over herself.

Her brow furrowed.

The warmth felt… wrong.

Not in a bad way.

But in the way that told her she had forgotten something important.

And then—

Her eyes snapped open.

Her breath caught.

Her heart stumbled.

Valentine.

She shot up so fast her vision swam, half-expecting to find him standing over her with some terrible, knowing grin.

But—no.

The room was still.

Dim and quiet, save for the faint, slow breathing of the two small figures tucked beneath blankets at her side.

Elric and Tomas.

They had been awake last night. Had stayed up too long. But now they were curled against each other, lost in the deep, heavy sleep of boys who had spent their entire lives pretending they didn't need it.

Anne exhaled slowly.

They were safe.

She was safe.

But—

Where was he?

The smell hit her next.

Warm. Fresh. Tantalizing in a way that sent a deep, aching hunger curling in her stomach.

Food.

Real food.

Her brow furrowed.

Slowly, carefully, she pushed herself off the couch, stepping lightly as she crossed the cramped space.

The door to the kitchen was already open.

And through it, standing at the small, battered stove, wearing an apron that absolutely did not belong to him, was Valentine Fontaine.

Cooking.

Smiling.

Like he did this sort of thing all the time.

Anne stared.

Her mind supplied several reactions.

Shock. Confusion. Horror. Possibly violence.

Instead, all she managed was a weak, breathless—

"…What the hell?"

Valentine turned at the sound of her voice, grin already in place, like he had been expecting this very moment.

"Ah, good morning, sleeping beauty," he greeted, effortlessly flipping a pancake with a flick of his wrist. "You were out like a corpse."

Anne blinked.

Looked at the stove.

Looked at Valentine.

Looked at the apron.

It was a terrible, faded thing—pink, frilly, with "Kiss the Cook!" scrawled across the front in ridiculous, curly letters.

She did not own that apron.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, voice still thick with sleep.

He followed her gaze and beamed.

"Would you believe me if I said I always carry one just in case?"

Anne opened her mouth.

Closed it.

Sighed.

Of course he did.

She rubbed her face, trying to push through the sluggish fog in her mind. The night before felt like a blur—or a fever dream, really. Valentine had been here. The boys had been awake. And then—

She glanced toward the couch.

Tomas and Elric were still tucked under their blankets, sleeping in the way only kids who felt safe ever did.

Something in her chest twisted.

They shouldn't have felt safe with Valentine here.

And yet—

Her stomach growled.

Loudly.

Valentine perked up. "Ah, perfect timing! Breakfast is almost ready."

Anne squinted at him.

"You know how to cook?"

He gasped in mock offense, pressing a hand to his chest. "Of course I do! What kind of gentleman would I be if I couldn't whip up a decent meal?"

"A normal one," she muttered.

But her nose betrayed her.

The smell was too good.

Warm and rich, like something actual humans would eat. Pancakes, eggs, something that might have been sausage if she were lucky.

She watched in wary disbelief as Valentine moved effortlessly around her kitchen, humming to himself like he had done this a thousand times before.

And the worst part?

It looked good.

The food. The movement. The way he had somehow managed to make her kitchen—small, cramped, barely big enough for one person, let alone a menace in an apron—seem warm and… and normal.

For someone who had beaten a man's skull in with his boot less than twenty-four hours ago, he sure had a domestic streak.

It was unnerving.

Anne folded her arms, leaning against the doorway.

"Should I be worried that you can do this?"

Valentine smirked, plating the first stack of pancakes. "My dear Anne, there are far worse things about me to be worried about."

She couldn't argue with that.

Her eyes flicked to the plates.

Her stomach twisted.

She wasn't used to this.

She had learned early on that good things didn't come free. That kindness always had strings attached.

That if someone fed you, it was usually because they wanted something from you.

She didn't know what Valentine wanted.

And that made him dangerous.

But—

She glanced back at the couch.

At Tomas and Elric, still sound asleep.

They didn't get meals like this often.

And for them—

She swallowed.

She could play along.

For now.

"Fine," she muttered, stepping forward. "But if you poison us, I'm throwing you out the window."

Valentine beamed.

"Anne, my dear, if I wanted you dead, I would have done something far more poetic."

Somehow, that did not reassure her.

Her stomach twisted.

Images flickered through her mind. Blood. Laughter. The alleyway.

The way he smiled as he caved a man's skull in.

And now here he was. In her home. Wearing an apron. Making pancakes.

She opened her mouth—ready to demand answers, ready to demand why the hell he was still here—

But before she could speak—

"Morning."

A sleepy, groggy voice.

Anne startled, spinning toward the door—just in time to see Elric half-stumbling into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

His hair stuck up at odd angles. His face was still soft with sleep.

And yet, even half-conscious, his gaze immediately latched onto the plate in Valentine's hands.

His nose twitched.

"…Is that food?"

Valentine beamed.

"Elric, my dear boy, excellent timing!" he said, stepping forward. "Try this. Tell me what you think."

Anne opened her mouth to intervene, to stop her brother from taking whatever ungodly thing Valentine had created—

But Elric had already grabbed a pancake.

Already taken a bite.

Anne winced. Braced herself.

And then—

Elric's eyes widened.

He stopped chewing.

For a long, stretched-out moment, Anne thought he was about to drop dead.

Instead—

He made a noise.

A small, traitorous, pleased noise.

And then, with betrayal written across his face, he turned to Anne and said—

"…It's really good."

Anne stared.

Valentine looked entirely too pleased with himself.

"See?" he said, grinning as he gestured to the plate. "Proof."

Anne opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Then—

"I need to sit down," she muttered.

Valentine chuckled.

And soon enough, Tomas was waking up.

Before Anne could fully process the absolute betrayal of her own blood—

A second voice, groggy and half-drowned in sleep, called from the other room.

"Wha's goin' on?"

A moment later, Tomas shuffled into the kitchen, looking like a half-conscious gremlin. His hair was a mess, his eyes still barely open, and he had the distinct air of a child who had just woken up and was about to cause problems on purpose.

Then—

He smelled the pancakes.

He blinked, suddenly more awake.

His gaze snapped to the plate in Valentine's hands.

"Food?" he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Valentine's grin widened.

"Elric," he said, dead serious, "you must protect those pancakes."

Elric blinked, mid-bite. "Huh?"

"Your brother is going to try and steal them."

Tomas narrowed his eyes.

Elric narrowed his eyes back.

Anne put her head in her hands.

There was a long, tense pause.

Then—

Tomas lunged.

"Elric, no!" Valentine cried.

"Elric, yes!" Tomas countered, grabbing for the plate.

Elric twisted out of reach, scrambling back, his pancake clenched in one hand.

"I had it first, you gremlin!"

"Sharing is caring, you traitor!"

"I am caring! I'm caring about me!"

Anne groaned, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

"Why are you encouraging this?" she muttered toward Valentine, not looking up.

Valentine, sounding entirely unbothered: "It builds character."

Anne finally lifted her head—just in time to see Elric leap onto a chair, clutching the plate to his chest like a sacred relic.

Tomas grabbed at his leg. "You don't even appreciate pancakes like I do!"

"That's because I actually chew my food, you feral raccoon!"

"You take too long!"

"It's called savoring, you heathen!"

Valentine watched with the pleased expression of a man who had just created a work of art.

Anne gritted her teeth.

Then, before Tomas could go for another attack—

She reached out.

Plucked one pancake off the plate.

And shoved it in her mouth.

Both boys froze.

Then—

A horrified gasp.

"Elric," Tomas whispered, turning to his brother. "We got so caught up fighting each other… we forgot the true enemy."

Anne chewed. Swallowed. And stared them both down.

"Touch another one," she said flatly, "and I'll eat the rest."

Elric and Tomas both recoiled.

"Monster," Elric whispered.

Valentine, beaming: "I'm so proud of you."

Anne sighed.

Sat back down.

Valentine, utterly unbothered, flipped another pancake in the pan, whistling.

Elric and Tomas grumbled but finally sat down, huddling over what was left of their stolen breakfast.

The kitchen fell into a strange sort of peace.

For a moment—just a moment—Anne almost let herself relax again.

And then—

"I should move in," Valentine mused.

Anne nearly choked.

"You what?!"

Valentine smirked.

"Well," he said, gesturing vaguely, "you clearly need a chef."

Anne glared.

"No," she said immediately.

Elric and Tomas perked up.

"You could live here?" Tomas asked, far too interested.

"No, he can't," Anne said firmly.

Valentine ignored her.

"I could be your in-house protector," he added. "Bodyguard. Personal Seeker."

"No."

Elric elbowed Tomas, grinning. "Bet he could fight off debt collectors."

Tomas gasped. "And he can cook."

Anne groaned, hating every single second of this.

"No," she said again, glaring at all three of them now. "Absolutely not."

Valentine hummed, utterly unbothered.

But—

He let it drop.

For now.

Anne didn't trust it.

At all.

And yet, as she took another bite of pancake—warm, sweet, and annoyingly good—she felt something shift.

Not trust. Not yet.

But something close.