Chapter 2: The Kitchen's Hidden Glance
Sunrise painted the eastern ridges in bloody orange and pale gold, but in the deep valley of High Wind, the world was still a study in blue-grey shadow and chill mist. Darius was already awake. He’d been awake for hours, listening to the wind’s constant monologue in the pines, feeling the unfamiliar emptiness of the narrow bed, his hand a constant, silent sentinel over his abdomen. The nausea was a low tide this morning, present but not drowning.
Elara’s knock came right on time, a sharp rap that echoed in the quiet cabin. “You alive in there?”
“Barely,” Darius called back, pulling on the simple grey tunic and trousers he’d been given. They were soft, worn by someone else, and smelled of sunlight and plain soap.
She pushed the door open, a basket hooked over her arm, her braid a perfect, thick rope.“Good. The ovens wait for no one. You eat anything?”
He shook his head, the thought of food still a dangerous gamble.
“You will. Smell of fresh bread cures all ills. Come on.”
The walk to the main lodge was different in the dawn light. The compound was stirring, not bustling. A few early-rising sentries nodded at Elara, their eyes flicking to Darius with cautious curiosity. The sweet-wild scent of the pack was fainter now, mixed with dew-damp earth and the first tang of woodsmoke from a dozen chimneys.
The kitchen was a realm unto itself, a cavernous space of warmth and organized chaos. A great stone fireplace dominated one wall, and two cast-iron ranges hummed with heat. Long wooden counters were dusted with flour, and the air was a thick soup of scents—yeast, simmering bone broth, the earthy perfume of root vegetables, and the rich, fatty aroma of venison sausage sizzling in a vast pan. It was overwhelming, real, alive.
“This is Mara,” Elara said, gesturing to a stout, older woman with forearms like seasoned oak and a cloud of frizzy grey hair tied back with a strip of leather. She was kneading a mountain of dough on a floured table, her movements rhythmic and powerful.
Mara glanced up, her eyes, the color of dark honey, sweeping over Darius without pause. “You chop,” she stated, her voice a low rasp. “Onions. Carrots.Celery. Fine, not mush. Bowl’s there, knife’s there. Don’t cut your fingers off; we’re short on bandages.” She went back to her kneading.
It was the most welcoming reception he’d had since arriving. No judgment, just a job.A place.
He found the designated bowl, the vegetables piled high. The knife was well-worn, its handle smooth. He set to work. The rhythmic thump of the blade hitting the wooden board was soothing, a meditation. Chop, sweep, chop, sweep. The sharp, astringent scent of onion filled his personal space, clearing his head. For a while, there was just the task, the heat, the muffled sounds of the waking pack outside.
He fell into a zone, his body remembering manual work from a life before Kael, before the gilded cage. His shoulders loosened. The constant, low-grade panic in his chest began to quiet. He was just a man chopping vegetables.
That’ assistant's when he felt it.
A shift in the atmosphere, like a door had opened to a colder room. The hum of conversation near the kitchen’s entrance dipped. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He didn’t look up. He kept chopping, his knuckles whitening on the knife handle.
He felt a gaze, heavy and specific, settle on the nape of his neck, then travel down the line of his spine. He knew who it was before he heard the voice.
“This is where you put him?”
Xander. His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the kitchen’s warmth like a shard of ice.
Darius finally looked up, forcing his movements to remain casual. Xander stood in the wide kitchen doorway, a silhouette against the brightening morning outside. He was dressed in dark training gear, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He’d been working out. He looked even bigger, more solid, in the tangible light of day. His pale blue eyes scanned the room before landing, inexorably, on Darius.
Elara, who was shaping loaves nearby, froze. Mara didn’t even pause her kneading. “Got hands, needs work. Seems fitting,” she grunted, not looking up.
Xander pushed off the doorframe and walked into the kitchen. The others subtly shifted, giving him a wide berth. He moved with that same predatory leisure, his bootheels silent on the flagstone floor. He didn’t head toward Mara or the ovens. He walked straight toward Darius’s station.
Darius kept chopping. A carrot fell into neat, even discs. His heart was a frantic bird in his ribcage. He focused on the blade, on the sound, on the feel of the wooden board under his palm.
Xander stopped on the other side of the counter. He didn’t speak. He just watched Darius’s hands. The silence stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until Mara’s rhythmic slapping of dough was the only sound.
“You’re left-handed,” Xander observed, his tone flat.
Darius paused mid-chop. It wasn’t a question. “Yes.”
Xander’s gaze lifted from his hands to his face, scrutinizing. “Kael never mentioned that.”
“Kael,” Darius said, picking up another carrot, “didn’t mention a lot of things.” The words came out with more bitterness than he intended.
A faint, humorless smile touched Xander’s lips. “No. I imagine he didn’t.” He leaned forward, bracing his hands on the counter. His presence was immense, intrusive. The clean, cold scent of him—pine and frost and sharp, healthy male—invaded Darius’s space, overwhelming the onion and herbs. “This seems beneath you. Peeling roots for the rabble.”
Darius forced himself to meet that icy stare. “It’s honest work.”
“Is that what you call it?” Xander’s eyes dropped again, this time to Darius’s torso, his lean waist, then back up. That analytical look was back, the one from last night. The healer’s scent on him? Some subtle change in his posture? Xander’s nostrils flared, almost imperceptibly.
Every instinct screamed to cover his stomach, to turn away. Darius stood his ground, knife held loosely but ready in his hand. “It’s what I’m doing today. That’s enough.”
Xander studied him for another long, breathless moment. The kitchen had gone utterly silent, everyone pretending not to listen. Then, without another word, Xander straightened. But instead of walking away, he moved around the end of the counter, into Darius’s workspace.
He came to a stop beside him, close enough that Darius could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the salt of his sweat. He reached past Darius, his arm brushing deliberately against Darius’s shoulder. He picked up a sprig of rosemary from a bundle on the counter. He brought it to his nose, inhaled, his eyes closed.
Then he leaned in, his mouth a fraction from Darius’s ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur, a vibration Darius felt in his bones. “You don’t belong here, omega. Slicing carrots in a steamy kitchen.” He paused, letting the words hang. “But you’re hiding something. I can smell it on you. Under the fear and the rain-scent. Something… soft.”
Darius’s blood turned to ice.He stopped breathing.
Xander didn’t pull away. He stayed there, a solid wall of heat and threat beside him. “My brother sees a wounded bird needing a nest. I see a complication.” Finally, he drew back, his expression unreadable. He tossed the rosemary sprig into the bowl of chopped vegetables. “Keep peeling your roots. For now.”
He turned and walked out, the kitchen air seeming to rush back in to fill the vacuum he left behind.
Silence persisted for three full beats of Darius’s hammering heart.
Then Mara slammed her dough down with a final, decisive thump. “Elara! These loaves won’t shape themselves! Stop gawking.”
The kitchen jolted back to life, the sounds of clattering pots and resumed chatter a little too loud, a little too forced. Elara shot Darius a wide-eyed look of sympathy mixed with alarm.
Darius looked down at his hands. They were trembling. He set the knife down carefully, before he dropped it. He stared at the bowl of meticulously chopped vegetables, now tainted by the sprig of rosemary Xander had thrown like a gauntlet.Something soft.
He knew. Or he suspected. The knowledge wasn’t full, but it was enough. Xander’s heightened senses had picked up the subtle, biological shift, the unique signature of early pregnancy—the “softness” he’d mentioned. It wasn’t proof, not yet, but it was a thread. And Xander had his fingers on it.
The morning’s fragile sense of peace shattered. The kitchen’s warmth now felt stifling, the scents cloying. He wasn’t just building a new life here. He was balancing on a knife-edge, with a man made of winter frost watching his every move, sniffing at his secrets.
He picked up the knife again. His grip was firm now, the tremble gone, replaced by a cold, focused clarity. He had a job to do.Roots to peel. A secret to protect.
He began chopping again, the sound sharper, more deliberate. Each thwack of the blade was a promise, a silent vow to the tiny, fluttering life inside him.
He would not be unraveled by a pair of ice-blue eyes. He would not let this place become another beautiful cage.
He chopped until his hands ached, until the bowl overflowed, until the only thing left in his world was the clean, decisive cut of the blade, and the fierce, silent rhythm of that other, hidden heartbeat, keeping time with his own.
The world snapped back into focus with Mara’s voice cutting through his trance. “You planning on feeding the entire valley with just carrots? Switch to potatoes. The bin’s in the pantry.”
Darius blinked, his fingers stiff around the knife handle. “Right. Potatoes.”
He found the pantry, a cool, dark room lined with shelves of preserves and sacks of grain. He dragged a heavy burlap bag of potatoes into the light, the earthy smell a welcome anchor.
His mind replayed it all—Xander’s voice in his ear, the brush of his arm, the word ‘soft.’ He leaned against the rough stone wall, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. He needed to get it together. Falling apart in a pantry wasn’t an option.
Elara poked her head in.“You okay? He’s… intense. Xander, I mean.” Her voice was a conspiratorial whisper.
“I’m fine,” Darius said, too quickly. He bent to heave the bag. “Just got lost in thought.”
“Well, don’t think too hard. Lunches don’t make themselves.” She vanished back into the steam.
He spent the next hours scrubbing, peeling, and cubing potatoes until his world narrowed to brown skins and white flesh. The work was monotonous, physical. It let him mute the fear into a dull background hum. His back ached, a new, deep ache that wasn’t just from bending over.
Mara shoved a wooden bowl of stew at him around noon. “Eat. You’re shaking.”
He was. He took the bowl and found a quiet corner on the back steps, away from the flow of pack members coming for their midday meal. The sun was high, surprisingly warm for the season. He forced himself to take a spoonful. The rich broth, the tender meat, it stayed down.
He watched the pack from his isolated perch. A group of young warriors sparred in a cleared circle, their movements a blur of controlled violence. Others tended gardens, repaired tools, lounged in the sun. It was vibrant, communal. It was everything High Lake hadn’t been.
A deep, grating voice spoke from the side of the lodge. “Doesn’t quite fit, does he?”
Darius stiffened. He didn’t need to look.Xander.
Another voice, smoother, more measured, replied. “He’s working. That’s a start.” It was Alder.
They were just around the corner, out of sight. Darius held his breath, his spoon frozen midway to his mouth.
“Working,” Xander scoffed. “He’s got the look of a cornered animal, brother. All tense lines and watchful eyes. He’s hiding something. You know he is.”
Alder’s sigh was barely audible. “Everyone who comes here is hiding something, Xander. That’ cause past is usually the thing. Give him time.”
“Time is a luxury. That silvery hair, that High Lake stink still clinging to him… it’s a provocation. He’s Kael Blackwood’s cast-off. You think that won’t come with complications? The man’s ego is a bottomless pit.”
“His past is not his fault. My offer stands.”
A beat of heavy silence followed. Darius could picture Xander’s icy stare, Alder’s calm but unyielding posture.
“Fine,” Xander said finally, the word sharp. “But when his particular complication bites us, remember I warned you. I’ll be watching.”
The sound of retreating footsteps crunched on gravel. One set. Xander’s. Darius let out a slow, shaky breath.
A moment later, Alder rounded the corner. He didn’t look surprised to find Darius there. He leaned against the lodge wall, crossing his arms. His storm-grey eyes held no accusation, only a weary understanding.
“You heard.”
Darius nodded, his throat tight. He set the stew bowl aside.
“Xander is… protective,” Alder said, choosing the word carefully. “Sometimes it manifests as suspicion. He sees threats in shadows.”
“Is he wrong?” The question slipped out before Darius could stop it.Alder considered him. “Are you a threat to this pack, Darius?”
“No.” The answer was instant, absolute. He meant it.
“Then that’s all that matters to me. The rest is your business until you choose to share it.” He pushed off the wall. “Maia will be by your cabin after dinner. Don’t avoid her.Rest this afternoon. That’s an order from your Alpha, not a suggestion.”
He walked away, leaving Darius with the half-eaten stew and a tangle of emotions. Alder’s trust was a fragile, precious thing. It felt like standing on solid ground, but Xander’s watchfulness was the tremor beneath it.
The afternoon passed in a haze of fatigue. Mara dismissed him with a grunt and a wrapped parcel of bread and cheese. “Don’t come back looking so gray tomorrow,” was her only goodbye.
He trudged back to the cabin. The quiet was a physical relief. He sank onto the bed, the bread forgotten on the table. His entire body felt heavy, wrung out. His thoughts were a sluggish river, flowing around the hard stone of Xander’s suspicion and the terrifying, tender secret in his core.
He must have dozed. The knock on the door startled him awake. The light outside had softened to evening purple.
Maia entered without waiting, her healer’s bag in hand. “You look terrible,” she announced, setting her bag on the table with a thump. “Sit up. Have you eaten?”
“Some,” he rasped.
She brought out a vial of clear liquid, some dried leaves, and a small pot of salve that smelled of chamomile and something astringent. Her examination was quicker this time, her hands clinical but gentle as they pressed his abdomen.
“The cramping?” she asked, her voice low.
“Less. Just an ache.”
“Fatigue?”
“Overwhelming.”
She nodded, seemingly satisfied. “That’s normal. Your body is working triple time.” She mixed the leaves into a cup of hot water from his kettle. “Drink this. It’s for the nausea and it’ll help you sleep.” She pushed the salve toward him. “This is for your lower back. Rub it in tonight.”
He took the cup, the warmth seeping into his chilled fingers. “Someone… suspects. I think.”
Maia’s hands stilled. She looked at him sharply. “Xander.”
It wasn’t a question.He nodded.
“Damn him,” she muttered, packing her things with brisk, angry movements. “His senses were always sharper than anyone’s, even as a pup. Arrogant with it.” She fixed Darius with her flinty gaze. “He knows something’s off. But knowing and knowing are two different things. You keep your head down. You take care of yourself. Let Alder handle his brother.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “The greatest threat to that spark right now is you pushing too hard. Rest. Actually rest.”
She left, the cabin door clicking shut with a note of finality.
He drank the bitter tea. He applied the salve, the heat a welcome bite against the deep ache in his muscles. He ate the bread and cheese in small, deliberate bites.
Night fell completely, the wind rising again in the pines. He lay in the dark, the events of the day replaying. The heat of the kitchen. The chill of Xander’s proximity. The solidity of Alder’s quiet support. The undeniable, fluttering proof beneath his own hand.
He was a secret hiding in plain sight, a whispered doubt in the mind of a dangerous man. But he was also, for the first time in years, making choices.Small ones. To drink the tea. To use the salve. To rest.
He turned onto his side, curling protectively around the soft, hidden center of himself. Outside, the wind wrestled the trees, a constant, powerful sound. It wasn’t trying to get in. It was just being what it was. Fierce.Untamed.Existing.
He closed his eyes, listening to it howl, and for the first time, he didn’t feel alone against the storm. He felt like a part of it.
The deep, needful sleep didn’t last. A sharp, twisting cramp deep in his pelvis dragged Darius back to consciousness hours before dawn. It wasn’t the dull ache from the kitchen. This was a thin, bright wire of pain, pulling taut. He gasped into the dark, fingers digging into the mattress. It eased after a moment, leaving a ghost of its echo throbbing low in his back.
Panic was a chemical taste in his mouth. He lay perfectly still, listening inward. The tiny pulse was still there, fluttering, perhaps a little faster. Something’s wrong. He’d overdone it. Xander’s stress, the hours on his feet, the fear—it was poisoning the fragile sanctuary inside him.
He couldn’t wait for Maia’s morning visit. The thought of something happening now, in this dark, silent cabin, was unbearable. He moved carefully, each muscle protesting as he slid from the bed. He pulled on his boots and a jacket, the pre-dawn chill seeping through the wool immediately.
The compound was a tomb of shadows. His breath plumed in the frigid air. He knew the way to Maia’s small cottage, tucked behind the main lodge. Every snapped twig underfoot sounded like a cannon shot. The fear was a living thing, coiling in his gut alongside the residual ache.
A soft glow emanated from one of her windows. He rapped on the door, the sound too loud in the sleeping world.
The door swung open almost immediately. Maia stood there, wrapped in a thick robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. She didn’t look surprised. Her sharp eyes took him in—his pallor, the tension in his shoulders, the way he held himself slightly hunched.
“Cramping,” he said, the single word ragged.
She stepped back without a word, ushering him inside. Her home was a cluttered symphony of dried herbs hanging from beams, shelves of jars, and the pervasive scent of lavender and something medicinal. “Sit.” She pointed to a worn armchair by a cold hearth.
He sat, his body folding gratefully into the cushions. Maia lit a small lamp and brought over a cup of water. “Describe it.”
“Sharp. Like a… a stitch, but deep. It’s gone now, but it hurt.” His voice sounded thin, young.
She nodded, her face unreadable. She knelt before him, her hands resting palms-up on her knees, an old, formal gesture. “May I?”
He gave a tight nod.
Her hands were warm this time. She placed them low on his abdomen, her touch feather-light at first, then applying gentle pressure. She closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. The room was utterly silent. Darius could hear the blood rushing in his ears, the soft pop of the lamp’s wick.
Maia let out a slow breath. She opened her eyes, and her expression softened from clinical assessment into something akin to relief. “The spark is strong. Fierce, even. It’s holding on.” She removed her hands and sat back on her heels. “The pain is your body talking. It’s saying you pushed too hard. It’s the ligaments stretching, the architecture shifting. It’s normal.” She held up a finger before he could speak. “But normal doesn’t mean ignore it. You’re not built like an omega who lounged for three years. You’re built like one who’s been braced for a blow. Your muscles are wound tight. They’re fighting the change.”
The explanation was a balm. It wasn’t disaster; it was a warning. “What do I do?”
“You listen. When your back screams, you stop. When you’re tired, you rest.Actually rest. Not just lying down worrying.” She stood, brushing her knees. “And you need to tell Alder.”
“No.” The refusal was automatic, visceral.
“Darius.” Her voice held no room for argument. “He is your Alpha. This secrecy, this strain of hiding—it’s a physical weight on you. Xander’s sniffing around. The longer this is a secret you cling to, the more it becomes a weapon others can use. Alder gave you sanctuary without question. He deserves to know what kind of charge he’s taken on.”
The truth of it lanced through him. She was right. The fear of Alder’s reaction was a knot in his chest, but the constant vigilance was exhausting him. It was hurting the baby.
“He’ll tell Xander,” Darius whispered.
“He’s Alpha. He’ll do what he believes is best for the pack and for you.” Maia’s gaze was unwavering. “But I know Alder. He won’t throw you to the wolves. He’s not that kind of man.”
Darius looked away, at the bunches of dried thyme hanging like skeletal hands. He thought of Alder’s calm grey eyes, his quiet “your business.” He thought of the kitchens, of Mara’s rough kindness, of Elara’s whispered warnings. This place was not High Lake. The risk was terrifying, but the constant hiding was a poison too.
“Okay,” he said, the word leaving him deflated. “I’ll tell him.”
“Today,” Maia pressed. “After first meal. I’ll make sure he’s in his study.” She went to a shelf and pulled down a small jar.“Here. This is for the cramping. A pinch in warm water. It tastes foul, but it works.”
He took the jar, the ceramic cool in his hand. “Thank you, Maia.”
“Don’t thank me,” she grunted, turning away to fiddle with a kettle. “Just get through today. Then we focus on growing a healthy pup, not just hiding one.”
The walk back to his cabin felt different. The decision, though terrifying, had been made. A strange, shaky resolve replaced the spiraling panic. The sky was lightening to a watery grey, the outlines of the pines sharpening against it.
He managed a few hours of proper sleep. When he woke, the sharp pain was a memory, leaving only the familiar, deep ache. He used Maia’s herbs. They tasted of bitter earth and iron, but within twenty minutes a soothing warmth unfolded in his core, relaxing muscles he hadn’t realized were clenched.
Elara collected him for kitchen duty. She eyed him critically. “You look less like death warmed over. Small victories.”
The kitchen was its usual organized storm. Mara thrust a basket of apples at him. “Core and slice. For pies. And try not to bleed in them.”
The work was easier today. His mind was a narrow channel, focused on the repetitive motion: press the corer, twist, remove the core, slice. The rhythmic work soothed his nerves. He kept one part of his awareness tuned to the door, dreading the sight of Xander, but the morning passed without his cold shadow darkening the threshold.
After the lunch rush subsided, Mara shooed him out. “You’re jumpy. Go walk it off. Be back to clean the pots in two hours.”
He knew it was a dismissal, a kindness. He washed his hands, the scent of apples and cinnamon clinging to his skin. His heart began a slow, heavy drumbeat against his ribs as he walked toward the main lodge. The decision in the pre-dawn dark felt solid. Now, in the clear light of day, it felt like walking toward a cliff’s edge.
Alder’s study door was open a crack. Darius raised his hand to knock, his knuckles poised inches from the wood.
“Come in, Darius.” Alder’s voice came from within, calm and expecting.
Of course he’d heard him approach. Darius pushed the door open.
Alder was at his desk, but he wasn’t working. He was leaning back in his chair, a cup of coffee cooling beside him, as if he’d been waiting. He gestured to the chair opposite. “Maia said you might come by. Sit.”
Darius sat, perching on the edge of the seat. The study felt immense, the shelves of books looming. He couldn’t find a place to start.
“How are you settling in?” Alder asked, taking a sip of his coffee. “The kitchen crew treating you alright?”
“They are. Mara’s… direct.”
A faint smile touched Alder’s lips. “That’s one word for it.” He set his cup down. The simple clink sounded enormous. “You didn’t come to talk about Mara.”
“No.” Darius’s palms were damp. He wiped them on his trousers. He stared at the grain of the wooden floor, at a knothole that looked like an eye. “You said my past was my business. Until I chose to share it.”
“I did.”
“There’s… more.” The words stuck. He forced them out. “When I left High Lake. I didn’t just leave a mate. I left… a consequence.”
Alder didn’t react. He just watched him, his storm-grey eyes steady, patient.
Darius took a shuddering breath and looked up, meeting that gaze directly. “I’m pregnant. Kael’s child. About eight weeks. Maia confirmed it.”
He saw the minute shift in Alder’ masteringposture, a slight stiffening of the shoulders. But the Alpha’s face remained impassive, a mask of careful neutrality. Silence stretched, heavy and thick. Darius could hear the blood roaring in his ears.
Finally, Alder let out a long, slow breath. “I see.” He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers. “Does Kael know?”
“No.” The word was absolute. “And he never will, if I have any say. This child is mine. Not his.”
Alder nodded slowly, processing. “Maia says the pregnancy is… fragile.”
“Because of the stress. The travel.” Darius’s voice gained a desperate edge. “I’m not a threat to your pack. I swear it. But hiding it… the strain of it, and…” He swallowed. “Xander suspects something. He said he smelled something ‘soft’ on me.”
At Xander’s name, Alder’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “Xander is an exceptional problem,” he said, his voice dry. “But that’s my problem to manage.” He sat back again, his eyes never leaving Darius’s face. “Thank you. For telling me. That took courage you shouldn’t have had to muster.”
The words were an absolution. The tension that had been coiled in Darius’s gut for days, weeks, began to unravel, leaving him trembling and weak.
“This changes things,” Alder continued, his tone pragmatic. “Your duties will shift.Light work only. Regular check-ins with Maia are non-negotiable. Your safety, and the child’s, is now a priority of this pack.” He paused. “The cabin is too isolated. There’s a room here, in the lodge. It’s small, but it’s warmer. Closer to Maia. I’d like you to move there.”
Protection. Monitoring. Darius understood the subtext. It wasn’t a cage; it was a fortress.
“Okay,” he whispered.
“Good.” Alder stood, a signal the audience was ending. “I’ll have your things brought over.Rest this afternoon. Tell Mara I said so.” He walked Darius to the door. “Darius? This doesn’t make you a complication. It makes you a member of this pack who needs care. Remember that.”
Darius nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. He stepped out into the hall, the solid oak door clicking shut behind him. He leaned against the cool wall, closing his eyes.It was done. The secret was out, and the sky hadn’t fallen. Alder hadn’t cast him out. He felt exposed, raw, but also… lighter. A burden shared.
He didn’t see the shadow detach itself from the deeper gloom of the corridor.
He only felt the presence when it was already upon him, the air cooling instantly. His eyes flew open.
Xander stood before him, blocking his path. He must have been waiting. His expression was coldly triumphant, his ice-blue eyes gleaming with vindicated suspicion.
“So,” Xander said, his voice a soft, venomous purr. “The little omega isn’t just carrying baggage. He’s carrying a little heir.” He took a step closer, crowding Darius against the wall. “Tell me, does my brother know he’s just imported Kael Blackwood’s spare?”