Sylus is in the kitchen, various bowls and utensils scattered across the marble counter as he cuts tomatoes and lettuce. He neatly organizes the cut up veggies into a bowl, humming a small tune to himself as he works.

Hearing your footsteps, he clears his throat, keeping his back turned to you. “The chef called in sick, so we’re on our own.” He says, his voice a deep rumble as he points the knife in his hand to a few jars across the counter.

“Choose one.”