The cup slipped because Eli was trying too hard.

He wanted to bring Ronan tea. He had watched the general return from training with a bandage around one wrist, and he had noticed the way Ronan flexed his fingers when he thought nobody was looking.

Eli couldn't ask whether the wrist hurt. But he could make tea.

He carried the cup carefully across the kitchen. The handle was smooth. His hands were not steady.

The porcelain struck the stone floor and broke into six pieces.

Eli's world narrowed to the sound.

He dropped to his knees before the last fragment stopped spinning. His hands went behind his back. His chin lifted, exposing the pale scars beneath his jaw.

“I'm sorry,” the housekeeper began.

Eli didn't hear the rest. He waited for the blow that always followed damaged property.

Ronan entered at the crash.

“Eli?”

The Omega's shoulders shook. Ronan stopped so suddenly his boots squeaked against the tiles.

He saw the broken cup, the bare knees on the hard floor, and the way Eli had arranged his body to make punishment easier.

For one terrible instant, Ronan wanted to break every wall of the laboratory all over again.

He made himself breathe.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Nobody's angry.”

Eli kept his eyes down.

Ronan crouched several feet away. “The cup's just a cup.”

No response.

The housekeeper brought a broom. Ronan shook his head and pointed to the sharp fragments near Eli's knees. They couldn't risk Eli cutting himself when he moved.

“May I sweep this up?” the woman asked.

Eli stared at the floor. Slowly, he nodded.

Ronan remained still while she cleared the porcelain. He knew Eli needed evidence more than reassurance. Words had been used against him too often.

When the floor was safe, Ronan stood and walked to the cupboard.

He selected an old training mug, chipped along its rim. It had survived three campaigns and one disastrous winter march. Ronan had kept it for years.

He placed it on the counter.

“Watch me,” he said, then caught himself. “Only if you want.”

Eli looked up.

Ronan let the mug fall into the sink. It cracked against the metal basin.

Eli jerked backward, frightened by the noise. Ronan instantly regretted his demonstration.

“I'm sorry. That was too loud.” He lowered himself onto the floor. “I wanted to show you something, but I did it badly.”

He held up the two broken halves.

“I broke my own mug. Nobody gets punished. We clean it up and find another.”

Eli stared at the pieces. Ronan set them aside, then took a small card from his pocket.

Lucien had taught the generals to carry simple choices. One side showed a green circle for yes. The other showed red for no.

“Would you like me to sit here?” Ronan asked.

Eli touched green.

So Ronan sat on the kitchen floor with him. The tiles were cold. The kettle hissed softly on the stove.

After a while, Eli moved one hand from behind his back.

Ronan noticed, but did not praise him for it. He didn't want Eli to think ordinary comfort was something he had to perform correctly.

The housekeeper brought a second cup, this one made of sturdy blue ceramic. She placed it within reach and left them alone.

Eli looked at Ronan's bandaged wrist.

“Oh,” Ronan said. “You were making tea for me?”

A small nod.

Ronan swallowed. “That's kind of you.”

Eli's gaze dropped again.

“You don't owe me tea,” Ronan added. “Or chores. Or anything.”

Eli pressed his lips together. He didn't know how to explain that making tea had been his own idea.

Ronan seemed to understand part of it. “But if you wanted to, I'd love some.”

They made another cup together. Ronan held the kettle with his uninjured hand while Eli chose the tea leaves. This time Eli carried nothing across the room. They sat at the table, and Ronan drank slowly.

“Best tea I've had all year,” he said.

Eli's mouth curved for half a second.

Later, Cassian found Ronan sorting through the kitchen cupboards.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for cups that won't shatter.”

“Because of this morning?”

Ronan gave him a sharp look. “Because the house should be easier to live in.”

Cassian considered that. “I can order replacements.”

“No gold trim. No delicate handles.”

“I wasn't going to suggest gold trim.”

“You were thinking it.”

Cassian sighed. “Possibly.”

Before lunch, Lucien examined Ronan's wrist in the medical room. Eli lingered at the threshold, watching the physician unwrap the bandage. Ronan caught sight of him and offered a small smile.

“Training injury,” he explained. “I got careless with a practice blade.”

Eli's face tightened. He knew what carelessness had cost him in the laboratory.

“Not your problem,” Ronan added. “I made a mistake, and I got hurt. That's all.”

Lucien cleaned the scrape. Ronan hissed through his teeth, then noticed Eli's alarm.

“I'm all right,” he said. “Stings a bit.”

Eli glanced at the medicine bottle, then at Lucien. The physician held up the label and explained what it was for. Eli listened closely. He had never been allowed to know what medicines entered his own body. Here, even an ordinary bandage came with an explanation.

Afterward, Ronan walked with Eli to the kitchen. He showed him where the cups were kept and asked whether Eli wanted to learn how to make tea for himself. Eli nodded. They practiced with cold water first, pouring it between two unbreakable mugs. A little spilled onto the counter. Ronan handed him a cloth without comment.

Eli wiped the water away. Nothing bad happened. He poured again. This time he managed without spilling.

“See?” Ronan said. “And even if it spills, it's just water.”

Eli considered the sentence. He had heard it before, but repetition mattered. A rule that held true once might be an accident. A rule that held true many times could become something else.

When the housekeeper entered, Eli stepped aside automatically. She thanked him for cleaning the counter and offered him a biscuit. He hesitated before accepting it. Ronan waited until the woman left, then took a biscuit for himself.

“I'm not much of a teacher,” he admitted.

Eli looked at the clean counter, then at the mug in his hands. He shook his head. Ronan understood the answer and smiled.

That evening, Eli passed the kitchen again. The broken cup was gone. The blue ceramic cup stood on a shelf at his height.

Beside it was a note in Ronan's crooked handwriting: FOR TEA. NOT A TEST.

Eli read it twice.

He took the cup down and set it on the counter. Then he deliberately lifted it again. Nothing happened.

He returned it to the shelf.

At dinner, Ronan reached for the breadbasket and winced when his wrist caught against the table.

Eli watched him. Then, with no warning, he reached across the space between them and held Ronan's hand.

Ronan went utterly still.

Eli's fingers were cool. His grip was tentative, but it was his own decision.

“Does it hurt?” Ronan asked gently.

Eli pointed at the bandage, then at Ronan's face.

“A little,” Ronan admitted. “It'll heal.”

Eli kept holding his hand for another breath.

Ronan did not close his fingers around Eli's. He let the Omega decide when to release him.

When Eli finally withdrew, Ronan looked at the place where their hands had touched.

He had been wounded in battles he could barely remember.

This was the first time a small act of concern had nearly brought him to tears.