Garrett’s words had the weight of a final, grim truth. But the man himself seemed determined to shatter the solemnity he’d just created. He came out from behind the bar, a thick towel slung over his shoulder, and loomed over their booth.
“Right,” he announced, his voice booming enough to make Alice jump slightly. “That’s enough doom and gloom for one afternoon. You three look like you’ve been chewing on nails for months. Now stop moping my bar with those sad faces of yours!”
His eyes, which had been so sharp and knowing, now twinkled with a gruff warmth. They landed on Niles. “Especially you, Scrawny. A stiff wind from these old mountains would snap you in two. What do they feed you up there, spreadsheets?”
Niles, usually so articulate, was now rendered speechless. “Scrawny?”
Garrett ignored him, while turning his gaze to Leon. “And you, Professor. You’ve got that look like you’re trying to solve the world’s problems on an empty stomach. It can’t be done.” Finally, he looked at Alice, and his expression softened a fraction more. “And you, Sparrow. Quick eyes, I saw how you moved. Got a fighter’s balance. But you’re all nerves. You need ballast, not just some whipped cream.”
Before they could protest, he was gone, barking an order to the kitchen. He later returned with three heaping plates. Thick slices of roast beef swimming in rich gravy, mountains of buttery mashed potatoes, and steamed green beans. The aroma was intoxicating, a stark, wholesome contrast to the sterile food of Blackwood Academy.
“Eat,” Garrett commanded. “No more school talk. Just food.”
And they did slowly. The first few bites were hesitant, then became ravenous. The simple, hearty food was a kind of magic.
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Garrett lingered, watching the trio with satisfaction. He nudged a second, smaller portion of potatoes toward Niles. “You’re thinking too hard, Scrawny. Eat. Brains run on glucose, not just caffeine and data.”
Niles blinked, his fork halfway to his mouth. “How did you—?”
“Seen the type,” Garrett grunted. “The live-wire thinkers. They often burn themselves out. Now, eat the potatoes.”
Leon, cutting his meat with precise, measured strokes, caught Garrett’s eye. “This is… very generous. Thank you, Mr. Garrett.”
“You’re welcome and lose that ‘Mr.’ thing. Now, stop cutting it like you’re dissecting legal evidence. The meat's dead already. Just eat, Professor.” Leon almost smiled, and his next cut was less formal.
But it was Alice who seemed to relax the most under Garrett’s gruff attention.
“You fence, Sparrow?” Garrett asked as he cleared a nearby table, not looking at her directly.
Alice paused, surprised. “How did you—?”
“Told you. Fighter’s balance. Saw it the moment you walked in. My father used to fence, back in the day. Said it was like chess with your whole body.” He gave a short and approving nod. “Good. Keep it up. A skill like that’s yours. Can’t take that away.”
It was the first genuine, uncomplicated praise Alice had received in months. She smiled, a real one. Later, when Alice mentioned a tricky parry-riposte combination, Garrett's eyes lit up with genuine interest.
Garrett gestured himself with an empty mug like a foil, mimicking the pose. “The lunge is all power, but the real fight is in the feet, isn’t it, Sparrow?”6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXw27IFisVZ
Alice’s face brightened. “Yes! Exactly! Everyone watches the blade, but if your feet are wrong, you’re already dead.”6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡObtQU2Vsch
“Smart girl,” Garrett nodded approvingly. “You’ve got the mind for it. Sharp and calm. Don’t let that place blunt it.”6Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKYOiwPqqw7
For a single, golden hour, they weren’t any designations or anomalies. Under Garrett’s watchful, paternal eye, Niles was “Scrawny,” being forced to eat his carbs. Leon was the “Professor,” learning to unclench. And Alice was “Sparrow,” a fellow warrior finding unexpected kinship.
They talked about nothing important. Leon admitted he’d once been fascinated by woodworking, the certainty of grain and joint. Alice confessed a secret love for baking and drama shows. Lastly, Niles, after much prodding, admitted poetry made no logical sense to him.
They all laughed, a real, genuine, and unforced sound.
As they finished, stuffed and content, Garrett cleared the plates. “Remember this meal,” he said quietly, his earlier gravity returning, but gentler now. “The world isn’t all cold stone. Remember me, and the hearth.”
They would have to return to the mountain, to the cold, secret war. But they were returning, changed. Not just with full stomachs, but with a renewed, fierce understanding of what they were fighting for—a world that contained good and warm places like The Hearth, and people like Garrett.
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and then Add to home screen.