The evening air in Workshop Bay 12 was warm, fragrant, and thick with the comforting, mouth-watering aroma of braised beef, roasted root vegetables, and sweet stone tea.
On the eve of the Grand Finals of the National Collegiate Crucible, the underground bunker had been transformed into an intimate, domestic safe hall. In the center of the concrete floor, Toby had built a clean coal fire inside the heavy iron fire bowl, over which hung a huge cast-iron stew pot bubbling with Grade-A Prime Aether-Beef, fresh mountain carrots, and savory bone marrow liberated from Logan Sterling’s badlands bunker.
Toby stood beside the pot with a wooden ladle. He grinned from ear to ear as he stirred the rich, dark wood broth. “Eat up, team! Tonight, we dine like kings on House Valerius’s private stolen rations! Over four thousand credits of prime beef in this pot alone!”
The feeding rotation went on with the orderly, respectful discipline of a veteran combat unit.
For Grimm, Toby filled a massive zinc-coated washbasin with four pounds of braised beef knuckle bones, soaked in stone broth and heavily dusted with crushed dark rock grit to replenish his black glass bone-armor. Grimm attacked the feast with enthusiastic, thumping tail-wags, his massive jaws cracking the heavy knuckle bones with satisfying, ringing snaps: CRACK-CRUNCH.
