Nansich quickly brushed the dust and bits of hay off the jar, inspecting it for cracks. Miraculously, it hadn't shattered—just a small dent on the lid. He popped it open with a soft pop, dipping a curious finger inside. The jam clung thick and sticky to his skin, deep red and shining even in the low light.
He licked it.
"Wow… it's beetroot jam," he mumbled, surprised, smacking his lips. "It's so sweet. So damn good."
He looked up at Zia, still standing close—watching him. Those glowing golden eyes reflected the dim light like a cat's, unblinking and unreadable.
"Here, try it," Nansich said, holding the open jar up toward the man's face.
Zia didn't move. Just gazed down at the offering… then at Nansich's face. His head tilted ever so slightly, the same way he had earlier, as if studying a new animal, or trying to decipher the tone of his voice.
Nansich blinked, lips quirking into a small frown. "Seriously? It's not poison. Look."
