The restaurant was silent for several moments after Draden made his announcement.

  Coradine’s eyes softened, but her voice was firm. “You might not have a choice. Men like Tavian don’t take no for an answer. If you refuse, he’ll find a way to force your hand. Or worse.”

  Draden’s fists clenched. He’d spent years as a mercenary, dodging traps, and betrayals, but this was different. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It was about Leah; about the life he was trying to build for her. And somewhere out there, Lorna was waiting for him to find her. He couldn’t afford to be dragged into someone else’s power play.

  “Then let him try,” Draden said, his voice low and dangerous. “It’s been a while, but I’ve faced worse than nobles with too much coin.”

  Marcus let out a dry laugh. “Brave words, but you’re not the cultivator you used to be. You’re still healing, and your sword arm’s not what it was. You sure you want to pick this fight?”

  Draden didn’t answer right away. He knew Marcus was right—his body wasn’t ready for a real fight, not yet. The qi from his food was helping, but the damage to his prime meridian was still a barrier, a constant reminder of his limitations. He needed time, and time was something Tavian might not give him.

  Before he could respond, Alice spoke up, her voice hesitant but steady. “What if… what if you used your food to bargain with him? You said it yourself, boss—your cooking’s special. Maybe you can offer him something special in exchange for leaving you alone. Something that you aren’t offering to the regular patrons.”

  Draden considered it. It wasn’t a bad idea, but it came with risks. Offering Tavian anything could be a slippery slope that might make the noble even more interested, tightening the noose around Draden’s neck. Still, it was better than walking blindly into a trap.

  “I’ll think about it,” He said finally. “For now, we’ve got a restaurant to run. Let’s focus on that.”

  The group nodded, though the tension in the room didn’t dissipate. Emilie and Alice returned to waxing the tables, while Coradine and Marcus resumed their lessons with the girls. Draden headed back to the kitchen, his mind racing. He needed to stay sharp, to keep his focus on what mattered; Leah, Lorna, the restaurant, and finding a way to heal his body completely.

  As he finished prepping for the dinner rush, he pulled out his notebook and flipped to the page for the buttermilk biscuits. The ingredient list from the summoned tube of pre-made biscuits was a start, but he still needed to figure out the different ratios. He scribbled a few notes, estimating measurements based on what he’d seen in videos back on Earth. Flour, butter, buttermilk, baking powder, sugar, salt, oil, water—those were the basics. But how much of each? And what about the technique? He vaguely recalled something about keeping the butter cold and folding the dough to create layers.

  He sighed, rubbing his temples. This was going to take time, and time felt like a luxury he suddenly didn’t have. Tavian’s summons loomed over him like a storm cloud, and the city lord’s earlier demand only added to the pressure. He needed to be stronger, faster. He needed to cultivate again.

  Regardless, no matter what the man wanted, he wouldn’t be showing up as the summons requested. He had a restaurant to run. Leaving it merely to appear at some noble's leisure was nothing more than a power-play, and that wasn’t something he was going to go along with. Draden may work with Tavian in the future; however, he would not give up his freedom or dance to their tune.

  Popping another almond snack ball into his mouth, Draden winced as the familiar pulse of qi hit his damaged meridian. The pain was sharp, like a needle jabbing into his spine, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. Each pulse was chipping away at the blockage, slowly but surely. He just had to keep going, keep eating, keep cooking.

  He pulled the biscuits out of the oven and piled them onto a plate. They would be served to the group for dinner alongside the chili. Which they all loved.

  The dinner rush came quickly, and the restaurant filled with the hum of voices and the clatter of plates. The street tacos and chili were a hit, as Emilie had predicted. Draden moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, his hands a blur as he chopped, stirred, and plated. But his mind was elsewhere, split between the immediate tasks and the two threats that had appeared that day.

  As the night wore on, he caught snippets of conversation from the dining area. Patrons were talking about the food, about the energy they felt coursing through them, about how their old injuries seemed to fade after eating. Word was spreading, just as Marcus had warned. Draden’s food was becoming a local legend, and with that legend came danger.

  After the restaurant closed, Draden sat with Leah in the quiet kitchen, watching her nibble on a donut hole she’d shaped into a lumpy star. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, but she was fighting to stay awake, her small hands clutching the donut like a treasure.

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  “Daddy, is the mean man gonna take Leah’s food?” She asked suddenly, her voice small and worried.

  Draden’s heart clenched. He pulled her into his lap, holding her close. “No one’s taking anything from us, sweetie. I promise. Daddy’s going to keep you safe, no matter what.”

  She nodded against his chest, her strawberry-blonde hair tickling his chin. “Leah believes you. You make the best food, and you’re the best-est daddy.” She yawned, her hands with the half-eaten donut drooping. “I love you daddy.”

  He kissed the top of her head, his throat tight. “I love you too, Leah, and you’re the best-est daughter I could ever hope to have. Now, let’s get you to bed. Big day tomorrow.”

  As he gently tucked the sleeping girl into bed, her soft little snores filling the room, Draden’s mind turned to the scroll in his pocket. Tavian’s summons wasn’t something he could ignore forever; then there was also the matter with Macron. He needed a plan, a way to protect Leah and keep the restaurant running without falling into the nobles’ grasp. And he needed to heal, to reclaim the strength he’d lost.

  Back in the kitchen, he pulled out his notebook and stared at the biscuit recipe. It was a small thing, a distraction from the weight of the world, but it grounded him. He added a few more notes, sketching out a rough plan for testing the ratios tomorrow. If he could master this, maybe he could master the rest—his body, his cultivation, his future.

  As he closed the notebook, the summoning circle on the back of his hand caught his eye. What other ingredients could he summon that would be even more potent than chocolate and vanilla?

  For now, he needed rest.

  Yet, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep wouldn’t come. His mind was too active with the thoughts of everything that had occurred that day. The City Lord’s demands and his possible qi deviation. The weight of Tavian’s summons. Then, the one that truly refused to go away was the memory of Lorna’s face the last time they had seen each other. All of them kept him awake. He had to keep moving forward, for Leah, for Lorna, for himself. The path was treacherous, but the Draden of this world had walked dangerous roads before. Now it was his turn, and he wouldn’t turn away.

  ***

  Draden’s eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling for what felt like hours, the faint creak of wood settling in the night the only sound in the room. He closed his eyes and tried to empty his mind, but it refused to quiet. Every time he thought he’d found a moment of stillness, another thought pushed its way in—Tavian’s demand, the City Lord’s ultimatum, the pain in his meridian, the gnawing question of how long he could keep Leah safe.

  He finally sat up, rubbing his face with both hands. Sleep wasn’t coming. It was pointless to keep lying there.

  The floorboards were cool under his feet as he made his way toward the kitchen, careful not to wake Leah. She was curled on her side in her small bed, her soft breathing a steady rhythm that made something inside his chest loosen—if only for a moment.

  In the house kitchen, he tapped a runed light stone and pulled the string that would bring it back up to the ceiling. Draden set a kettle on the stove and poured water from the jug, letting the simple routine ground him. While it heated, he flipped open his notebook again. The biscuit recipe stared back at him.

  In the last day, this recipe had begun to consume him. It wasn’t just about the biscuits, at least not entirely. This recipe meant something more; it was about control. It was the mastery of something in a world where too much felt out of his hands.

  The water began to bubble. He poured it into a mug with a spoonful of dried herbs he’d been experimenting with. They were from Earth, so they came with the normal surge of qi and healing energy; however, these were different. They weren’t ingredients used for cooking; well, they could be, but rather they were medicinal herbs. The drink was something to help calm his qi flow before bed. The taste was bitter, but it forced his mind to slow.

  It wasn’t exactly a sleeping medicine, but it was the closest thing he had at the moment.

  The quiet didn’t last long.

  A faint sound carried in from the dirt road outside—the sound of footsteps shuffling, deliberate in their placement, and yet the sound was out of place in the still night air. Draden set the mug down, his attention sharpening. The house shutters were closed, and the door was locked, but in this world, that didn’t mean much.

  When the house had first been built, Lorna had laid down countless protections about the place. Judging by the condition of the place when he had first taken over the body, he could only believe that whatever magic had once been in them had faded over the years.

  He couldn’t count on them to protect the house at the moment. That said, they were something that he could mention to Coradine in the morning. Maybe she could re-power them.

  He moved to the front room, standing behind the door where he had a clear view of the window. A shadow passed by and then stopped just outside the door.

  Draden’s muscles tensed. His fingers flexed against the urge to reach for a weapon he didn’t carry anymore.

  He heard a soft muttering and then a dull thunk noise as something was stabbed into the door. Seconds stretched until the shadow moved again, retreating into the night.

  He didn’t open the door. Instead, he stayed there until the faint scrape of boots on stone faded entirely. Only then did he risk opening the door. A dagger had been stabbed into the door three-quarters of the way up, and was holding a sheet a parchment paper.

  Taking both, he closed and locked the door, then returned to the kitchen.

  When he returned to the kitchen, the tea had cooled. He drank it anyway. The bitter taste lingered, along with the knowledge that someone could have come within inches of breaking into his home that night. His instincts were rustier than he thought they were. Not only did he not have a weapon at the door waiting for him, but he had also left the kitchen without grabbing a knife first.

  Both were stupid rookie moves. Despite the tea, sleep was long in coming.

  He placed the dagger and the message on the counter. It was from Tavian and contained four simple words. ‘You made me wait.’

  That was it, and it was more than enough.

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