{Elira}
~**^**~
Zenon didn't so much as twitch. He just stirred the pan with calm precision, though his jaw tightened slightly.
"Careful, Lennon," he said flatly. "The food might end up in your face instead."
I stifled a laugh, but Lennon caught it immediately and pointed. "Ha. She is laughing at you, not with you."
Zenon's eyes cut toward me briefly, sharp enough to pin me in place. My smile faltered, and I ducked my head, pretending to examine the fruit bowl on the counter.
"Honestly," Lennon went on, circling closer to the stove, "who knew our mighty Zenon could cook? Tell me, brother, do you add a dash of intimidation instead of salt? Or maybe—"
"Get out of my kitchen," Zenon said calmly, though his tone was edged like a blade.
Lennon only grinned wider. "My kitchen, technically. You are just the chef."
