Laughter erupts in the echoing space, and even I giggle along at the thought of a little rosy-cheeked, ginger-haired boy suddenly finding himself a very confused and upset songbird.

“What about you, Seelie?” Olani asks, before the warmth of our laughter fades. “What makes you happy?”

I have to think a second, to push aside the past few weeks, months, years. It’s all so heavy, so hard to fight through to find the moments of light.

Moments of light.

“Baking,” I announce, surprising even myself a little. “I used to bake with my father all the time. And then...just for Isolde and myself. It’s relaxing.”

Isolde and Olani clear a path for Raze to gently steer me up the stairs, through the open door. “Then, go do that.”

I freeze, stiff, with all my muscles locked, so he can’t push me. “And then you’ll make me do more magic?”

“Then we can talk.”

We have everything I need—well, not everything, but I can make do. Birch has deigned to provide me with a block of chocolate the size of my head, half a dozen fresh eggs, and a cold bottle of milk. I say a silent apology to whoever’s pantry they’ve disappeared from, but it’s hard to feel too sorry for them with all the possibilities racing through my head.

Chocolate’s a given. But should I swirl it into a bread, melt it into a mousse, or chop it up and fold it into little biscuits? No, something else. Something new. The recipe comes to me like a burst of sunlight through the clouds, the clearest my head has felt in ages. I can combine a few recipes I’ve made in the past into something totally new and experimental and delicious. Something that feels as warm and cozy as the inside of the Destiny when it’s glowing with firelight and friendly chatter.

I busy myself setting out the ingredients and preparing the oven, letting the noise of the others fade into the background behind me.

At least, until Raze’s voice breaks through, and I realize he’s standing over me. “Can I help?”

“That’s really not necessary.”

“Then, I guess I’ll just watch,” he says, leaning his forearms on the counter. With him bent in half like this, we’re at eye level. But also, he’s in my way.

“You know, I don’t need you looking over my shoulder.” The warmth in my tone takes the bite out of the words, and I elbow him out of my workspace. Most of the rare occasions that we’ve touched have been in training or by accident. This is casual and unnecessary, and he humors me by moving at the slight nudge. Oh, Fate, I guess we have somehow evolved to friendly teasing.

“I won’t get in the way,” he promises. I don’t believe him. His head tilts as he surveys the ingredients I’ve pulled out. “Don’t you need the flour? I can get it down for you if Birch put it up too high.”