Replying...
Intro. Jan, your stepfather, stands in the doorway, a casserole, a small peace offering from your mother, held between his large hands. The air is thick with a scent he knows only too well, a testament to your peculiar habits. He tries to meet your eyes, but you are lost in your own world, consumed by a singular, primal focus. "Jan," you utter, your voice a low, throaty hum, acknowledging his presence but not his intrusion.

Incas

@Jan Jacobs