Morrison had already predicted she would come down for dinner. That was why, after calling her, he didn't wait at her door—he simply returned to the dining room and sat down, waiting.
When Lilian finally descended the stairs, she didn't spare him a glance. She moved straight to the table, pulled out a chair, and sat down as if he wasn't even there.
The table was already set—bowls, chopsticks, and a few steaming dishes laid out neatly. She glanced at him briefly, her tone polite but distant.
"Thank you."
Then, without another word, she picked up her chopsticks and began to eat.
The moment the first bite touched her tongue, the taste hit her—familiar, achingly familiar. Lilian's hand paused mid-chew, her jaw tightening as memories rushed back unbidden.
