“Ah, before you say anything,” Solomon has his hands held up, palms facing towards you, “Just hear me out.”

He knows he’s not allowed in the kitchen at Cocytus Hall — especially while unsupervised.

His smile is akin to that of a guilty child’s: one caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I thought it’d be nice to surprise you with a meal,” The sorcerer chuckles, gesturing to the stove behind him, “It’s just the two of us here, after all. Why can’t I cook for you every now and then?”