Cael finished his work early that afternoon.
The day had been kinder than usual. No broken traps, no torn ropes, no emergency repairs, and no frightened voices calling him from the lower platforms. With his luggage hanging from one shoulder and his body pleasantly tired, he climbed toward his house, planning only to store his things and rest until evening.
But as he passed Mira’s house, he slowed.
The door was open.
From inside came the warm smell of wheat flour, oil, herbs, and something rich being prepared. Real wheat flour was hard to come by, cultivated carefully from the lab’s precious stock, so anyone using it would give their full attention.
Mira certainly was.
She stood in the kitchen, facing the table, her back toward the doorway. Her long blond hair fell loosely down her back, shining softly in the afternoon light. Her blue eyes were lowered, focused entirely on her work. Beneath one eye, the small mole that Cael always found strangely attractive gave her graceful face a delicate charm.
Her slender body moved with slow, steady rhythm as she kneaded the dough.
Press.
Fold.
Push.
Again and again.
She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she did not notice him watching from the doorway.
Cael’s gaze lingered longer than it should have.
The movement of her hips, the soft rise and fall of her shoulders, the quiet sound of her breath as she worked—it all held him there. The kitchen was warm, and Mira looked too focused, too beautiful, and far too tempting to leave alone.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
His footsteps made no sound as he entered. He had lined his soles with fur long ago to reduce noise while hunting prey in the forest. Now that same trick carried him silently across Mira’s kitchen floor.
He came up behind her.
Then his arms slipped around her waist.
Mira gave a small gasp.
Before she could turn, Cael leaned close to her ear and whispered, “Caught you.”
For a heartbeat, she stiffened. Then she recognized his voice and relaxed into him with a soft, breathless giggle.
“Cael,” she murmured, cheeks turning red. “You came at the right time.”
His hands stayed around her waist.
“With what?” he asked.
He lowered his mouth to her ear and bit it lightly, just enough to make her shiver. Then he let his breath trail down to the side of her neck, taking in the warm scent of flour, herbs, and Mira herself.
Mira’s voice trembled slightly when she answered.
“The pie needs to be filled before we can bake it.”
She pointed toward a cylindrical injector lying on the table.
Cael followed her finger.
The tool was already prepared, heavy with the rich mixture inside. He reached for it, lifted it, and held it before her.
“You want this?” he asked.
Mira turned her face just enough to look at it. Her blush deepened, but her eyes were bright. She reached out and touched the cylinder, her fingers sliding over it slowly, testing its weight and warmth.
“Yes,” she said softly. “I want this.”
Cael’s smile grew.
He stepped closer, the warmth of him pressing against her from behind while he held the filled injector in one hand.
“Where do you need it?” he asked, his voice lower now.
Mira swallowed, then gently moved her hands to show him.
“Here,” she whispered. “Insert it here.”
She opened the prepared place for him, revealing the small hollow she had made. It was already brushed and moistened, glistening faintly so the filling would slide in without tearing anything apart.
Cael lowered his eyes.
“It’s wet,” he said.
Mira looked back at him, her face flushed but smiling.
“Otherwise it would be hard to insert, right?” she said. “With how big it is.”
Cael’s breath caught softly in his throat.
For a moment, he did not move.
The afternoon light rested on Mira’s hair. The fire in the kitchen warmed the air. Outside, the village continued with distant voices and footsteps, but inside, the world felt smaller, quieter, wrapped around only the two of them.
Cael guided the nozzle to the entrance.
“I can’t wait anymore,” he murmured. “Here I go.”
He moved carefully at first.
The tip pressed in.
Mira gasped.
“Ah…”
Cael froze at once, his eyes sharpening with concern.
“All right?”
Mira nodded quickly, though her fingers tightened against the table.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s fine. Just move it slowly.”
So he did.
Slowly.
Carefully.
He eased it deeper, feeling the resistance give way little by little. Mira held the opening steady for him, her hands trembling faintly as she tried to keep everything in place. A thin line of red sauce slipped down along the side, warm and glossy.
Cael noticed it at once.
“Something’s coming out,” he said, worry touching his voice.
“It’s fine,” Mira whispered. “Just keep going. Don’t let it spill.”
Her voice had grown soft, almost like a cat purring. She guided him with small movements, telling him where to angle it, when to stop, when to push again.
Cael followed her instructions as best he could, but the warmth of her body against him and the sound of her breath made patience difficult.
He moved the rod slowly at first, searching for the right place.
Then, little by little, his control began to slip.
His breath grew heavier near her neck.
“Mira,” he said, voice strained. “I can’t hold on much longer.”
Mira’s hands tightened, trying to keep everything sealed, not allowing even a little to go to waste.
“Inside,” she whispered quickly. “Fill it inside.”
Cael’s grip firmed.
“Coming.”
He pushed the plunger hard.
The rich filling surged forward all at once.
Mira held the opening tight, doing her best to make sure nothing escaped. A soft, satisfied sound left her throat as the weight of it settled in, full and warm. Cael stayed close behind her, his breath against her hair, his body tense until the injector was empty.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The kitchen was quiet except for the crackling oven fire and their uneven breathing.
Then Cael slowly drew the nozzle out, careful not to spill even a drop.
Mira watched closely, then sealed the opening with gentle, loving hands.
“That’s filled good,” Cael said, still catching his breath.
“Yes,” Mira said softly.
She looked down at her work with a tender smile, petting the rounded surface as if proud of how full it had become.
“Thank you.”
Cael set the empty injector down and noticed the red liquid still clinging near the edge.
“What’s that red sauce?” he asked.
Mira smiled, her cheeks still pink.
“It’s tomato paste,” she said. “It’s my first time cooking this recipe today.”
Only then did the spell between them loosen.
Mira carefully lifted the filled dough, now shaped and swollen with the meat mixture inside, and carried it to the oven. She slid it in with both hands, treating it like something precious.
And it was precious.
Wheat flour from the lab. Meat saved from a hunt. Herbs dried with care. Tomato paste rare enough to be worth bragging about.
In this world, such food was not ordinary.
It was a luxury.
A celebration.
A small miracle wrapped in dough.
That evening, when the pie came out of the oven, the crust was golden and crisp. Mira cut it open, and rich steam poured out, carrying the scent of meat, herbs, oil, and sweet tomato.
The filling inside was thick and juicy.
Cael took one bite and fell silent.
Mira watched him anxiously. “How is it?”
He swallowed slowly, then looked at her with complete seriousness.
“You have to make this again.”
Mira’s smile bloomed.
That night, they shared a delicious meat pie for dinner, warm enough to burn their tongues and good enough to make Cael forget he had ever planned to sleep until evening.