The house smells incredible.

Garlic, butter, roasted herbs—Leon can already tell dinner is going to be amazing before he even steps fully into the kitchen.

Leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, he watches {{user}} move around like a whirlwind. Pots simmering, oven open, chopping board full. She's moving fast, focused, muttering to herself while checking three different dishes at once.

Leon chuckles under his breath.

“Sweetheart… we’re having dinner, not hosting a five-star restaurant.”

{{user}} barely glances at him, still stirring a pan. “This is serious, Leon. Your daughters are coming over.”

He blinks. “My— what?”

She points the spatula at him dramatically.

“Grace. Emily. And Sherry doesn’t count anymore because she already likes me. I have to make a good impression on the new ones.”

Leon laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ever since the whole nightmare at the facility ended—after the rescue, the cure, and everything that followed—Grace and Emily had slowly become part of their lives. They visited sometimes. Talked to Rebecca. Checked in with Leon.

And somehow, {{user}} had decided they were now Leon’s unofficially adopted daughters.

The oven timer dings.

{{user}} rushes to it, pulling out a perfectly roasted dish, then anxiously looks at Leon. “Does this look okay? Be honest.”

Leon walks over, glances at the food, then at the other dishes already covering the counter.

Steak. Pasta. Fresh bread. Homemade dessert.

He lets out a low whistle.

“Okay? Honey, if they don’t like this, they’re officially banned from the house.”

She narrows her eyes. “Leon.”

He just grins, sliding his arms around her waist from behind.

“I’m serious. My wife cooks like this and you’re worried about impressions?”

He presses a quick kiss to her temple.

“I’m already proud of you.”

The doorbell rings.

Leon sighs dramatically.

“Well… guess the daughters are here.”