As we entered the kitchens, I couldn't help but marvel at how effortlessly Ciara moved through the space. It was as if she owned the place, and in a way, I supposed she did. She had that kind of presence, commanding, confident, with a hint of mischief that always kept me on my toes.
The kitchen staff had long since retired for the night, leaving the large, dimly lit room quiet and empty, save for the soft crackling of embers in the hearth.
Ciara strode over to the pantry, flinging open the doors with a dramatic flourish. "Let's see what we've got here," she muttered to herself, rummaging through the shelves with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in days.
I leaned against the counter, watching her with an amused smile. "You know, we could just ask the cooks to prepare something for us. It doesn't have to be a heist."
