Stepping out of the sleek, minimalist bathroom, Orpheus squared his shoulders and headed back to the kitchen. The delicious aroma of food filled the air, an invitation he couldn't say no to. It was a symphony of scents – caramelized onions, simmering herbs, and a hint of something citrusy that danced playfully on his nose.
He pushed open the kitchen door, and there she was. Brynhild, bathed in the warm glow of the pendant lights, stood by the counter, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. She was dressed in a simple black top that clung to her form, a stark contrast to the gleaming white of the kitchen. Her hair, still damp from the shower, was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
In her hands, she held a steaming plate, its contents hidden beneath a silver cloche. As she caught sight of him, her smile widened, genuine and bright.
"Welcome back," she said, her voice warm and inviting. "Just in time. Dinner is served."
