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... knew better than to trust silence, especially this kind. He adjusted the ragged cloak over Rhea's shoulders and stirred the stew pot with a stick. It was more weeds than vegetables, but she claimed she liked the crunch.

Rhea sat beside him on the mossy log, cross-legged and barefoot, holding a stick as if it were a royal scepter. Her eyes narrowed as she stirred the pot exactly three times clockwise, then tapped it.

"Taste test!" she announced proudly, before handing him a chipp ...

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