Chapter Text
As Sanjiko walked down to the kitchens, she knew something was wrong.
Or rather, she felt it.
She felt it deep within her gut, churning away at her insides like some sort of foreboding premonition. There was that note of tension that wavered ever so slightly, the vibrations sending gentle shockwaves across her chest, as if she was currently existing in the precious moments before a great disaster occurred, everything preserved in place before life as she knew it would change.
She wasn’t sure if it was her usual overthinking or not, but the resounding silence that hung in the air contrasted heavily to the hustle and bustle that typically arose within the kitchens and floated down the halls, filling it with laughter, and chaos, and cursing. The absence of bodies that dotted the passageways, each on their own unique journeys to fulfil their tasks, crossing each other’s paths for the briefest of moments, did little to appease her worries.
Sanjiko shook her head.
It was probably just her paranoia. Her head was always fuzzier and her a bit more on edge if she had anything less than eight hours of sleep fuelling her. Her lifestyle was always ready to be her teacher whenever she slipped, quick to show that it wasn’t one that accommodated sleep deprivation and thus shouldn’t be messed with. And if it wasn’t that, it would be Zeff that was doing the reminding.
Therefore, all that truly concerned her in that moment was to unload all the wares she’d bought at the market and finally get around to finishing her duties without interruptions, so maybe maybe she could get a small nap in before the big dinner. Gods knew they were looking at a long night ahead of them and without the proper preparation, it would eat her alive.
She stifled a yawn as she walked down the winding staircase, resisting the urge to rub at her burning eyes if not for the fact that her arms were laden with bags, the giant doors of the kitchen looming intimidatingly ahead of her.
Setting a bag down to swing it open, she immediately noted another wrong thing in a list of red flags that was steadily growing by the hour.
A small group of people stood huddled around one of the counters, whispering profusely amongst themselves.
Now on a regular day, it wouldn't necessarily be out of the ordinary to find the odd straggler holed up in their kitchen, typically consisting of upstairs staff that traipsed through for a quick gossip and a snack during the small moments where they could steal away a break amidst their laundry list of work.
However, these people weren't wearing any uniform, so they couldn’t be upstairs servants. And she most definitely didn't recognise them as the kitchen staff.
She looked around for guidance, for any sort of context that might clue her in. Her eyes roaming for a glimpse of the dependable, blond man holed up at the front, barking out a flurry of orders and feedback to the cooks, with nothing to be said about the two burly men that usually flanked his sides.
Sanjiko found the spot easily, containers of chopped vegetables and recipe papers and sharpened knives scattered around on the counter where he should be. Where they all should be.
The kitchen was absent of its head chef. The last time that ever happened was years ago, when a fever somehow took its hold on him and left him bedridden for days, in a rare moment of weakness. He’d been back to practically living in the kitchen mere hours after recovery, bigger and stronger ever since.
Something, she decided, was very wrong.
They all turned around to look at her, the sea of eyes pinning her on the spot with no means to escape.
She frowned pointedly at them.
"Qui es-tu?"