The kitchen of Hell's Kitchen was usually a place of orchestrated chaos. On any given day, the clang of pots and pans, the sizzle of searing meats, and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the space with a symphony of culinary creation. But tonight, something was different.
The usual bustle was absent, replaced by an eerie stillness, broken only by the soft bubbling of a saucepan on the stove.
Nyssa pushed through the swinging doors, expecting to find the team cleaning up after another successful dinner service. Instead, she found Victor standing alone at the center island, surrounded by an array of ingredients. His eyes were locked on the stove, where a small pot simmered gently, its contents sending tendrils of steam curling into the air.
"Victor?" Nyssa called out, her voice cautious as she approached. "What's going on? You've been in here for hours."
