Page 209 of Dark Night of the Soul

He didn’t answer. He kissed my forehead and tightened his arms around me.

And in my own bed, in my own house, with his arms around me, I let sleep take me.

Chapter 53 | Anna

I’d never experienced a family dinner before. At least, not one with men armed to the teeth and a gentle Southern woman who insisted we all sit and eat like it was a tactical mission.

Grace had gotten everyone to show up anyway. Like her voice carried authority you didn’t argue with. Telling us we were going to act like civilized people.

The dining room was large enough to seat eight, and every chair but one was filled. The air smelled like pepper and frying oil and butter—comfort so aggressive it should’ve come with a warning label. And it made me happy.

Quietly. Dangerously. The type of happy that felt like it’d break if I looked at it sideways.

Piers preferred to hover at the edge of the room, as if sitting down would be an admission of chaos.

Silas wasn’t at the table. I suspected that was intentional. Like he’d delivered us home and then vanished so the rest of us could pretend, for one meal, that the war was not sitting in an empty chair.

Grace made me sit at the head of the table. I protested. I lost. Because no one wins against Grace when she’s decided you need feeding.

Kincade took the seat to my left—close, solid, like he belonged there. Ophelia and my mother settled to my right. Across from them, Ludwig and Ulrich found seats.

Ludwig chose the chair directly across from Ophelia, and by the gleam in his eyes, I knew that was on purpose.

We were all settled, plates full from the buffet Grace had set out like she was feeding an army. She took the seat next to Ulrich, who eyed his food with suspicion.

Natasha didn’t say much. She sat close to Ophelia, hands wrapped around her tea glass like it was the only thing keeping her steady. But when Grace placed a biscuit on her plate, my mother paused like she didn’t trust the simplicity of it.

She broke it open. Steam curled up. She took one small bite and went still.

She was somewhere else for a heartbeat, like the taste had brushed against a door inside her that wasn’t fully locked anymore.

Then she swallowed, blinked, and quietly ate another bite like she was afraid the memory might vanish if she looked at it too hard.

I didn’t call attention to it. I let her have it and turned back to the table before my throat could tighten.

“What’s wrong, Ulrich?” I asked. “You’ve never had chicken fried steak before?”

“I’ve never had chicken fried anything before,” he said. “And why must it be smothered in gravy?”

“Oh, honey,” Grace said, warm as a hug and twice as dangerous. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had my chicken fried steak and gravy.”

Ulrich glanced at her like he wasn’t sure if she was joking. I snickered. There was something magical about the way she cooked. Perfect golden breading, gravy like a bribe, buttered biscuits from scratch.

“Anything deep-fried and smothered in gravy is suspect,” Ludwig said.

“I ate your German food for weeks and never complained once,” I said.

“That’s wrong,” Ludwig said immediately.

“You complained a lot,” Kincade added.

“Well.” I pointed my fork like it was evidence. “I didn’t complain about the chocolate cookies or the soft pretzels,” I said, thinking of my midnight snacks with Ulrich.

Ulrich glanced up and gave me a surreptitious wink.

Kincade leaned closer. “Something I should know about between you two?”

“No,” I said. Because those midnight pretzel snacks were while he was still half-conscious.