"Chop those finer," Serenith says, nodding at the pile of vegetables in front of him without looking up from the pot she's stirring. "You're not building a wall."
"I am a very accomplished chopper," Lucien says, entirely wounded, already slowing his knife down to a more surgical pace. "I'll have you know I once negotiated an entire merger over a cutting board."
"Did the merger involve actual food?"
"Peripherally."
She snorts, reaching past him for the salt, and he shifts his hip out of the way without either of them breaking stride, an easy, practiced little dance that neither of them comments on. He passes her the bowl of diced onion a beat before she asks for it. She slides a spoon into his free hand a beat before he goes looking for one.
Outside, the world keeps trying to end.
