Elizabeth's POV:
Her arms were strong around me — the kind of hug that didn't ask questions first. It felt like home.
When she finally pulled back, she didn't speak right away. Just looked at me. Like really looked. Her thumb brushed lightly under my eye.
Then she reached back into the apartment and opened the door wider.
"Come inside," she said. "I'm not standing in the hallway crying like a movie extra."
I smiled through the sting in my throat and stepped in.
The apartment smelled like her. Like ginger and thyme and oil that had been simmering on the stove for hours. I kicked off my shoes without thinking and let my shoulders relax for the first time all day.
She pulled me to the couch and sat beside me, still holding my hand. No rush. No questions. Just the quiet kind of love that doesn't need permission to exist.
We sat like that for minutes — long ones — letting time stitch us back together.
Then she glanced up at Maverick, who stood near the bookshelf with a kind of respectful distance.
"Are you always this tense?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.
He blinked. "What?"
"You look like you're trying to calculate the safest corner of the room. Relax, young man. She's not going to vanish just because you blink."
I laughed — the sound surprised even me.
Maverick offered a faint smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
Aunty Mara tilted her head, smirking. "You jealous?"
He raised a brow. "Of what?"
"Of my hug," she said with mock pride, nudging me. "This one was always clingy growing up. I can tell she hasn't been letting people in lately."
Maverick didn't answer right away. Then, with a light shrug, he said, "I'd be more jealous if she didn't need it."
That earned him a small approving nod.
And then — as if the emotional weight had passed inspection — she clapped her hands once, suddenly brisk.
"Alright, enough of the reunion fluff," she declared. "You—" she pointed to me, "—are helping me finish dinner before you vanish again."
I smiled and stood. "Yes, ma'am."
She glanced back at Maverick as she moved toward the kitchen. "And you — don't just stand there like a lamp. Come set the table."
"Yes, ma'am," he echoed.
And just like that, we were moving in rhythm again — like family.
-(-*-*-)-*-*-*-*-*--*
Dinner came together slowly, like muscle memory. The scent of garlic and olive oil drifted through the kitchen, blending with soft acoustic music playing from an old speaker on the windowsill.
Aunty Mara handed me a bunch of fresh basil. "Tear, don't chop," she said. "This is pasta, not a battlefield."
I smirked. "You've been waiting to say that, haven't you?"
Maverick was manning the stove under her command, watching over a skillet of grilled chicken like it might develop an ego if left alone. The air felt warm, real — the kind of grounding I hadn't known I needed after the marble-and-glass world of Noxzera.
As the pasta simmered and garlic butter wafted into every corner, Aunty Mara looked over.
"Lizzy, honey," she said casually. "Do me a quick favor. The trash is full — mind taking it down to the bin by the stairwell? Don't want the place smelling like old onions overnight."
I paused. "Now?"
She smiled. "Unless you want to sleep with it."
I rolled my eyes, grabbed the bag, and headed out without arguing. "You owe me," I called over my shoulder.
The door shut behind me with a soft thud.
Aunt Mara had always preferred a modest, middle-class lifestyle to flaunting riches.
She would rather live alone than fill her home with staff she didn't need.
She once told me with a warm laugh and a wave of her spoon
"I'm not too old to do things myself. Moving around keeps me happy… and healthy, of course."