Cell 7 fell silent.

The DASF unit did not explain further. He simply turned and started walking, as if the matter had already been settled.

His partner did not say anything either. He only gave Cell 7 one last glance.

Was he about to chuckle at us? Lucie’s brows twitched.

She wondered whether reality was mocking her, her team, or both.

For several seconds, no one moved. Then Genevieve exhaled.

"What are you all spacing out for?" Genevieve asked, her expression calm and almost too similar to the DASF units. "Follow them."

Lucie leaned closer. "Lead, are we seriously doing this?"

"Yes. Stop being paranoid and move. We learn more by following than by standing here."

"Lead, I feel that this is all a ploy."

"Would you rather be interrogated first?"

Genevieve glared at Lucie, shrinking the poor lass back into submission. After taking the first step, the rest of Cell 7 followed after their leader.

Their route led them away from the central yard and toward a wide warehouse with both doors open. At first glance, it looked like another repurposed industrial building. Then the smell reached them.

Warm oil. Cooked meat. Fresh rice mixed with seasoning. A smell far too alive for the apocalypse.

Several members of Cell 7 slowed again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

The interior had been turned into a canteen. Long tables filled the center space. Soldiers ate in organized shifts, their weapons either slung neatly or placed within easy reach.

No one shouted. No one fought for portions. No one stared too long at the newcomers.

Lucie glanced at the soldiers’ trays and realized something was wrong.

Their breakfast looked too uniform.

Each soldier had nearly the same serving. Same portion of rice. Same cut of meat. Same side dish. Same arrangement on the tray, as if someone had measured every gram and decided hunger itself could be standardized.

It did not match the smell drifting from the cooking area at the back.

Lucie’s eyes narrowed.

The soldiers were not eating what was being cooked. If that was the case, who was the food in the back for?

In a survivor camp, food supply determined whether order survived or chaos returned.

Whoever cooked controlled morale. Whoever distributed controlled obedience. People watched pots like starving dogs pretending to be civilized.

Here, the soldiers ate without greed, ignoring the source of that warm, tempting aroma.

"Lead," Lucie whispered.

Genevieve nodded. "I know. The soldiers are not eating from that kitchen."

It only took her a second to confirm Lucie’s suspicion. The soldiers’ meals were already prepared. The food at the back was different.

Cell 7’s expression changed.

Why is this place stranger by the minute?

Unfortunately, no one was willing to answer their questions.

At the far end of the canteen, near several wide cooking stations, a woman Cell 7 did not recognize moved with practiced irritation.

Her hands were quick. She tossed ingredients into a pan, adjusted the heat, mixed seasoning, and plated food with the confidence of someone who had done this many times and had found every repetition personally insulting.

Beside her sat the golden-haired girl Genevieve had seen before.

Kimmy. Young Star-Blood.

Genevieve’s eyes paused on her. Is she... waiting for food?

For a moment, Genevieve thought the food might be meant for the young old-blood ascendant.

The woman at the cooking station finally looked up. Her gaze swept over Cell 7, then landed on the DASF unit.

"Is that all of them?"

"Yes," the DASF replied. "Commander’s guests."

The woman clicked her tongue.

"Guests, he says. How many more will he have soon? A hundred? A thousand?"

Her tone made it sound like Golden Eagle had been throwing problems into her kitchen since the beginning of time.

The DASF unit did not react.

"Commander’s orders," he said.

"Of course they are." Yunera clicked her tongue again. "Everything troublesome in this base is always his orders."

Once more, the DASF gave no reaction.

Cell 7 stared. Not because of the complaint itself, but because no one stopped her.

This woman had just complained about Golden Eagle in the middle of his own base, surrounded by his soldiers, and the only reaction she received was silence.

Lucie’s eyes moved from Yunera to the DASF unit, then to Genevieve.

Genevieve’s expression did not change, but the same thought had already crossed her mind.

Who exactly was this woman?

Yunera turned back to the counter and pointed at several trays.

"Those are for them."

The DASF unit nodded once, then gestured toward Cell 7.

"Please."

Lucie looked at the trays.

They were not like the soldiers’ meals.

The portions were not identical. The cuts of meat varied slightly. The rice carried traces of oil and seasoning.

It was not perfect, but that only made it feel more real. It was far better than the canned goods they had rationed for themselves not long ago.

However, nobody took the first step forward. They still did not know whether the meal was safe, or whether the woman’s irritation was only part of an act.

Yunera noticed, her eyes narrowing even tighter. "What now?"

Lucie’s gaze shifted away.

Jannik suddenly found the floor interesting.

Yunera stared at them for two seconds longer before her expression worsened.

"Do you people think I poisoned it? Am I that petty?!"

The question landed too directly.

Several members of Cell 7 stiffened.

Yunera’s face twisted as if she had just been personally insulted by the stupidity of the world.

"Poison?" she repeated. "For breakfast?"

Kimmy moved beside Yunera, helplessly trying to calm her down.

"Sister, don’t be angry. They’re cautious."

"Hmph! If that guy wanted you dead, he would not ask me to waste seasoning."

The DASF unit quickly stepped in. "Dear guests, please take your trays."

Left with no choice, Genevieve, as the leader, stepped forward and took the first tray.

The others hesitated, but Yunera’s glare was too fierce for them to ignore.

"Lucie, what the heck are you doing?!" Jannik muttered behind her. "Get your tray!"

Lucie shot him a look, then carefully took her tray.

Genevieve ignored them and carried her tray to the nearest empty table. The food was warm enough for heat to seep through the tray and into her fingers.

The warmth felt strange against her fingers.

Food had become something survivors guarded fiercely and stretched thin. Nobody was willing to offer it so easily especially during the apocalypse.

And if someone did...

Genevieve knew that free meals always came with a price.

Golden Eagle needed something from them, and breakfast was the first step in showing Cell 7 his goodwill.

Amidst her thoughts, Lucie sat beside her with visible reluctance. Jannik followed next, then Vivian and the others.

Genevieve picked up her spoon first. If this was poison, then at least she would be the first to know.

She took a bite.

The rice carried oil and seasoning. The meat was tender enough to make her pause. It was simpler than that.

Did I overthink this part?

Genevieve placed the spoon down for a moment. Then she looked at the rest of Cell 7 who stared back at her.

"What are you looking around for? Waiting for food to turn cold? Eat!"

Her sermon broke the last of their hesitation. One by one, Cell 7 began eating.

Fear, suspicion, and countless questions remained, but Golden Eagle had shown them anything except hostility.

Across the canteen, Hans’s soldiers continued eating their identical meals without looking over.

At the back, Yunera clicked her tongue as if feeding suspicious SAS agents was the newest insult added to her morning.

Kimmy only smiled faintly and returned to her own breakfast.