CHAPTER 166: MAKING EGG DROP SOUP

"Yeah." Cara’s smile was quick and a little shy. "But it means fresh eggs are valuable. The birds have to feel safe to lay. So when you eat these, you know someone took care to make them comfortable."

There was something almost poetic about that. Eggs that required trust and safety to exist. Marron carefully set the egg back in the basket. "How many can I use?"

"For everyone?" Cara counted mentally. "We’ve got about forty people here right now. Take... eight dozen? That should be plenty, and we’ve got more coming tomorrow."

Eight dozen eggs. Marron’s mind immediately started calculating—that would give her more than enough for a generous pot of soup, with some left over for whatever tomorrow’s meals needed. "Perfect. I’ll also need chicken stock if you have it, or bones to make it. Ginger, garlic, scallions—"

"We’ve got all that." Cara was already pulling out containers. "Alexander made sure we stocked up on basics. He said—" Her voice softened. "He said you taught him that good food starts with good ingredients. So he’s been really careful about what we buy."

Something warm and complicated twisted in Marron’s chest. She remembered Alexander in the dungeon, tasting her soup like it was the first real thing he’d ever eaten. Asking questions about seasoning, about cooking times, about why she’d chosen each ingredient.

"He listened," Marron said quietly.

"He always does." Cara handed over a container of fresh ginger root, another of garlic cloves. "That’s why we follow him. He actually cares about what we need, not just what’s convenient."

What we need, not just what’s convenient.

Marron looked down at the eggs in their basket, at the ginger and garlic, at the scallions Cara was bundling together with quick, efficient movements. The ingredients for comfort. For nourishment. For something simple that could still say you matter

.

"Thank you," Marron said, and meant it for more than just the food.

Back at the communal tent, Marron laid out her ingredients with the same care she’d learned to apply to everything since the copper pot had taught her patience. The pearl-white eggs in their basket. The ginger root, knobby and fresh. Garlic cloves still in their papery skins. A bundle of scallions with roots still attached, the green tops vibrant and alive.

Millie watched with interest from her spot on the bench. "That’s it? That’s all you need?"

"Plus stock and seasoning." Marron was already setting up her work station—cutting board, knife, bowls for prep. "Egg drop soup is all about simplicity. You can’t hide behind complicated techniques or fancy ingredients. It’s just... eggs, broth, aromatics. That’s it."

"The best dishes often are simple," Mokko observed. He’d taken up a position near the tent entrance, ostensibly to watch the settlement activity but really, Marron knew, to make sure she didn’t spiral into overthinking again.

She pulled out the copper pot—her Legendary Tool #2, the one that had taught her patience—and set it on the cooking setup the mimics had rigged in the tent. It was a good fire pit with an adjustable grate, the kind of practical solution she’d expect from people building an entire settlement from scratch.

"Starting with the stock," Marron narrated, more for her own benefit than anyone else’s. She poured the chicken stock Cara had provided into the copper pot, then added smashed ginger and garlic. The pot warmed slowly, as it always did—patient and deliberate. Not rushing to boil. Just slowly, steadily building heat.

While the stock heated, Marron prepped the eggs. Eight dozen was a lot to crack, but the rhythm of it was soothing. Tap, crack, pour. Tap, crack, pour. The whites and yolks slid into a large bowl, building up into a golden pool.

"You’re not beating them?" Millie asked.

"Not yet." Marron set aside the last empty shell. "If you beat them too early, they start to separate. I’ll beat them right before they go in the soup—just enough to break the yolks and mix everything, but not so much that they get foamy."

Lucy watched the process with rapt attention, her form pressed against the side of her jar.

The stock began to simmer, and Marron inhaled the aroma—ginger and garlic warming in chicken broth, the smell of comfort food being born. She fished out the ginger and garlic pieces, their job done, then adjusted the heat. The copper pot settled into a perfect simmer, the surface just barely moving.

"Now?" Millie asked.

"Now I wait for everyone to gather." Marron looked out at the settlement. The sun was starting to lower, painting the half-built structures in warm amber light. Mimics were finishing their work for the day, tools being set down, materials being covered for the night. "The actual cooking is fast. I want the soup fresh when they eat."

"Smart," Mokko said approvingly.

Marron picked up the Generous Ladle again, feeling the weight of it. The symbols in the bowl were still shifting, still unreadable. But the warmth was stronger now, like the ladle was... anticipating. Ready.

"Okay," she whispered to it. "Let’s see what you can do."

The mimics gathered as the sun touched the horizon, filtering into the communal tent in ones and twos. Some had changed out of work clothes into cleaner outfits. Others came as they were, sawdust still clinging to their sleeves, mortar dust on their hands. But they all came with the same expression—hopeful and a little bit awed.

Alexander arrived with Keeper, the two of them drawing eyes as they entered. Alexander’s nearly-perfect human form was easier to look at than Keeper’s hooded, masked appearance, but the settlement mimics clearly respected both leaders equally.

"Soup lady!" someone called from the back, and there was a ripple of laughter.

Marron’s face heated. "Please don’t—"

"All hail the soup lady!" another voice added, and now there was definitely teasing in it.

"I’m going to poison all of you," Marron muttered, but she was fighting a smile.

"You wouldn’t." Alexander had made his way to the front, his warm brown eyes amused. "You care too much."

"Rude," Marron said, but he was right.

The mimics settled onto benches and floor space, arranging themselves in a loose semicircle around the cooking area. It reminded Marron of that first night in the dungeon, when she’d fed them soup and they’d gathered just like this—cautious but hopeful, not quite believing something good was being offered.

But this time was different. This time they knew her. Trusted her. Believed she wouldn’t let them down.

No pressure, Marron thought wryly.

She turned to her ingredients, to the copper pot of simmering stock, to the bowl of waiting eggs. To the Generous Ladle resting on the prep table, its symbols shifting in the firelight.