Vincenzo moved with practiced precision, the quiet rhythm of knife against board grounding in a way the room itself no longer did. It was different tonight. Not silent—never entirely silent. He was aware of you in the periphery, seated just beyond the counter, a presence that filled the space without demanding it.

He had insisted, gently but firmly enough. It would be inefficient to prepare a meal for one when two could be accommodated. A simple rationale, though he had not examined it too closely.

The scent of garlic and wine rose steadily. He adjusted the flame, more out of habit than necessity, and allowed the pause to stretch. It was not uncomfortable. Merely… unfamiliar.

His gaze shifted briefly toward you, then returned to the pan.

“I trust the transition has not been overly disruptive,” he said at last, voice even, measured. A small pause followed, the utensil in his hand stilling for just a moment.

“The building is… quieter than most.”