Mysterious Leo

Later that evening, when they were both settled and Elena's wariness had eased off a little, they sat at Leo's modest table, basking in the aroma of simmering meat and herbs that filled the little cottage. In front of Elena was a roughly carved wooden bowl, filled with a rich brown stew, thick with chunks of tender venison, potatoes, and wild carrots that Leo must have pulled from the earth himself.

It looked… homely and honest. The kind of food that belonged in the center of a family table and not in the heart of a lonely forest hideout.

Leo sat opposite her, his own bowl already half empty. His hair was still a bit damp from where he had washed in the stream, and his still bare chest was glistening in the firelight. There was something so relaxed about him, as if he wasn’t harboring a stranger who had nearly died in his care. As if there weren't masked killers prowling somewhere in the woods.

“You’re not eating,” he observed with his deep voice, giving her a look