Wanda looked down at the soup watching as thick bubbles pushed through the bottom of the pot to the surface. She'd chosen a dish that took a long time to make, if only to keep her thoughts and feelings distracted on the task. "Yes." Her accent was thick and she was forced to think of her home and her brother. Loss stabbed painfully in her chest before she pushed the feeling away.

No more weakness.

"I grew up in a cold country. Soups and starches like dumplings were a specialty." Her mother had taught her to cook before she was killed. "There will be plenty." She wasn't even hungry. Wanda knew she should eat but the idea of eating turned her stomach uncomfortably.