Under the Shadows

The Reclaimer placed his final property card down on the table with a victorious smirk, his pile of cash towering over Elyne's much-diminished stack. "And that, Detective, is how you dominate capitalism."

Elyne leaned back in the couch, arms crossed, glaring at the board like it had personally betrayed her. "Congratulations. You're officially the most insufferable tycoon in a game that was rigged from the start."

He chuckled, leaning over the table to collect the little green houses she'd barely managed to place before her financial demise.

Then, he stretched his arms lazily and stood, the faint sound of his chair scraping against the floor breaking the silence.

"Alright, Detective," he said, rubbing his hands together with exaggerated enthusiasm, "time to test my culinary skills. What do you say to something a little more substantial than toast and eggs?"

Elyne snorted softly, her gaze fixed on the screen. "Do what you want. I'm not stopping you."

"Not stopping me isn't the same as joining me," he teased, moving toward the small kitchen. "Come on. It'll be more fun with two."

Elyne shot him a glare, finally tearing her eyes from the screen. "You're not seriously expecting me to cook with you."

"Why not?" He flashed her a grin over his shoulder, already pulling out a pan and a knife. "I could use a sous-chef. And I doubt you've got anything better to do."

Her jaw tightened. He had a point, and she hated that. With an annoyed sigh, she got up, stalking toward the kitchen like she was heading into battle. "Fine. But if you expect me to peel potatoes or some other domestic crap, forget it."

He chuckled, opening the fridge. "Noted. No potato peeling for the detective."

Elyne leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as he began pulling ingredients from the fridge: vegetables, a pack of chicken, a carton of cream. She raised an eyebrow. "You planning a five-star dinner in this dungeon?"

The Reclaimer shrugged, setting the ingredients neatly on the counter. "Might as well make the best of the situation. Besides," he added, grabbing a chopping board, "I have a reputation to uphold."

She rolled her eyes. "As a kidnapper-chef?"

"As a man of many talents," he corrected smoothly, handing her a knife. "Here. Make yourself useful."

Elyne stared at the knife in her hand, debating whether to use it to slice the chicken or him. With a sigh, she stepped forward and began cutting the vegetables instead, her movements precise and mechanical. The Reclaimer worked beside her, humming softly, his confidence infuriatingly unshaken.

"So," he said after a moment, breaking the silence, "do you cook often, or is your diet mostly takeout and coffee?"

"Takeout and coffee," Elyne replied bluntly, not bothering to look up. "I don't exactly have the luxury of time for this."

"Shame," he mused, tossing the chicken into the pan with a sizzle. "Cooking's therapeutic. You should try it more often."

"I'll add it to my to-do list," she said dryly, her knife slicing through a bell pepper with a satisfying crunch.

They worked in near silence for the next few minutes, the rhythmic sounds of chopping and sizzling filling the air. Elyne found herself watching him more than she intended, noting the efficiency of his movements, the way he seemed entirely at ease in this strange domestic performance. It was unsettling, how normal he could seem, how he managed to slip between the role of killer and this—whatever this was.