•Kitchen•
[Ace's POV]
The kitchen door swung open with a soft creak, revealing Ovelia, Ann and Mrs. Melinda elbow-deep in soapy water. Three pairs of hands froze mid-scrub as our sudden entrance startled them. Ovelia's wet fingers dripped onto her apron, leaving dark spots on the fabric as her eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
Mrs. Melinda's soapy sponge plopped back into the basin. "What in the—" she began, her voice rising before I pressed a finger to my lips. Understanding flashed across their faces, and without another word, they resumed washing, though their movements became more deliberate, quieter.
I jerked my chin toward the large spice rack in the corner - its shelves crammed with jars of herbs and dried vegetables. Ray moved first, his boots silent on the stone floor as he ducked behind the shelves. Philip followed with considerably less grace, knocking his elbow against a hanging pot with a dull clang that made us all wince.
