Luca returned after some time, carrying the cleaned and prepared meat in his hands. His posture was stiff, like a child presenting his homework to a terrifying teacher.
The fire crackled between them, casting flickering shadows over his nervous expression.
Isabella stood there, arms crossed, lips pursed.
Shelia and Ophelia sat nearby, watching intently.
Even Glimora—perched on Isabella's shoulder—had her tiny paws folded, tail wrapped neatly around herself as if she, too, was judging Luca's efforts.
The air was so tense, you could hear a leaf drop.
Luca swallowed. Then, slowly, he extended the meat forward.
Isabella didn't move immediately. She stared at the meat like she was considering its entire existence.
Everyone else held their breath.
The fire popped.
The tension grew unbearable.
Then, finally, Isabella reached out, pinched a piece between her fingers, inspected it closely, then gave a slow, thoughtful nod.
"…Good job."
At that exact moment—
