Ronan didn’t respond. He simply lifted his chin and gestured toward the clock. His voice was flat, almost emotionless.

“It’s five o’clock, Elara. Did you forget something?”

I frowned. “Forget? What?”

“Porridge.” He reminded me curtly, his expression unchanging.

Then I remembered. I had promised him I’d cook porridge every morning as a form of apology.

“Oh... alright, I’ll make it now.”

I walked to the wardrobe to grab some clothes, then turned back and asked him to ...