By the time Ren returned, Ava had cleared nearly seventy percent of the pending trade board.
He didn't interrupt.
Just set the coffee down like he was placing a glass lens over a bomb and waited for her to notice.
Yuan came in a moment later, carrying a tray with practiced care—like it was a weapon, not breakfast.
The food smelled unreal.
Crisp herb-buttered toast, thick slices of grilled tomato over eggs still runny in the center, a side bowl of soy-braised potatoes, and something that might've been shredded duck wrapped in a golden roll.
Ava blinked. "That smells like civilization."
"Don't get emotional," Yuan said, setting the tray down beside her workspace. "I just don't believe in letting command staff starve. Bad for morale."
Ava smirked, finally leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms. "Do all military-grade kitchens serve five-star field meals?"
"I wasn't military," Yuan corrected. "I taught them how to cook. They taught me how to shoot."
