For the next few weeks leading up to the Vernal Conclave at the start of May, Amber trained hard with Scythe Victoria, so she did not see much of Avery except during silent meals. She accompanied her mentor to her gleanings, learning how to kill and give immunity to the subject's family. For the first few gleanings, Amber came back to the appartement, and retched. She had nightmares about the people Scythe Victoria gleaned, their empty eyes, their resigned smiles. She felt bad for them, for their families. There was one gleaning that she particularly hated: Scythe Victoria had told her to glean the subject instead of her, so she had proceeded towards the man; the man's face looked like her father, Alistair Ansaldo: the same reddish hair, the same tanned skin; the only difference was that he had dull brown eyes, widened with fear and resignation. Scythe Darwin comforted her as best as he could, in his own way, with his flavorless food.

The four of the appartement's inhabitants took turns cooking whether it was breakfast, lunch or dinner. This time, it was Amber's turn to cook supper for the four of them. So she decided to cook them some jambalaya. Her dad's recipe. While chopping the asparagus, she felt a profound nostalgia. Her dad was in a kitchen once, chopping asparagus too. He would sing, or hum on the bad days: according to him, music while cooking always makes the food taste better. Amber could never disagree; her dad was right, music does make food taste better. She held on the memory of his kind face, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. Amber swallowed her pain and started to hum the nursery rhyme her dad wrote just for her. As she hummed, she felt that her dad was just there, beside her, chopping asparagus too. She smiled softly and started singing in a small whisper.

Little fire, just a flickering flame,

Come rise higher, don't curl up ashamed;

Little fire, you shan't be afraid of the rain,

You will rise up, roaring and untamed.

"Smells nice," a voice rose behind her.

She whirled around, and spotted Avery entering the kitchen, wearing simple khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. She tried not looking at his biceps. He gave her his usual arrogant smile and snatched an apple from the counter before her.

He bit into it, and chewed.

"Nice song by the way," he added. "What's the name?"

She tensed and turned back towards her working table.

"Nevermind that," she replied abruptly. This was the first time in weeks that they had a conversation this long, eversince the balcony one. It was usually just a small nod or a 'hi' during the morning. Then there was silence for the rest of the day.

Avery shrugged. The sound of his munching filled in the tense silence. Then he spoke up.

"What are you cooking?" He asked, his voice wavering a bit. Amber immediately felt bad to be so cold towards him.

"Jambalaya," she murmured a reply, cutting another asparagus stalk slowly, the knife hitting the cutboard each time with force.

Amber felt him approach cautiously, as if deciding how he should react in front of a beast. Avery stayed silent. He just grabbed another stalk from the pile and started chopping the vegetable in a regular rhythm. She knew he understood that she prefered to stay silent, and did the same. Immensely grateful that he does ask any further questions, she gave him a small smile which he returned.

Amber recalled how she despised him, until she learned that there was more to him than just his contemptuous demeanor; Avery Greyhall was certainly many things, and could certainly be many more. She remembered her mother's words from what felt like a very long time ago: An imperious person is often using coldness and airs of superiority to hide their true thoughts. It is a sort of shield that a person wields, skillfully using it to stop people from approaching them and questioning the regretful actions they have made in their past. She wondered if she somehow dissolved that shield. Maybe.