Go fish

Kellam’s smirk lingered, but it softened, the sharp edges dulling into something almost… tired. His fingers drummed idly against the desk, but there was no real impatience in the movement—just a restless energy, an attempt to keep himself grounded.

A wet nurse and volunteers? His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual dry bite. That’s good, Rosalie. You deserve the help. More than you probably let yourself believe.

He exhaled, looking past her for a moment as if gathering his thoughts before returning his gaze to hers. Something unreadable flickered behind his dark eyes, something tangled between gratitude and grief.

Lucien is lucky to have you. To have people who care. He hesitated—just a breath, just long enough for the moment to feel heavier than it should. Not everyone gets that.

The weight of his own words seemed to press down on him for a moment, his usual controlled demeanor slipping just enough to reveal the exhaustion beneath. But then he shifted, rolling his shoulders as if physically shaking it off.

As for the book—don’t worry about expectations. Just… don’t let it consume you. I’d rather not lose the one person in this world who still makes it feel a little less— He stopped himself with a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. Ah, listen to me. You’d think I was the one drinking tea and talking about sentiment.

His smirk returned, though it was more of a ghost of its usual self.

And if you manage to make that cake with the proper amount of bitterness, I might even call this trip worthwhile. He tried for lightness, but his voice carried something else—an unspoken weight, one he wasn’t quite ready to name.