The longer she stayed in the dungeon, the bigger it got.

Now the dungeon was lit with even more lamps and candles on the ceiling and the walls. But what she really noticed were the mimics.

Their eyes were adjusting to the new lighting, and they weren't hissing, unlike the ones in the diner on the third floor.

They're...changing alongside the dungeon.

Marron turned the Lieutenant's bone shard over in her hand before slipping it into her apron pocket.

Its surface was smooth, and the mimic runes were etched so deeply they pulsed with light, like the dwarven runes on the floor.

The bone shard felt warm.

Weirdly so.

It throbbed like a heartbeat, and she had the distinct impression it wasn't hers.

She hated relying on it, but she needed to know what this "protection" actually meant.

Would the other mimics obey her now? Would they back off? Or would it simply make her a bigger target?

Only one way to find out.

+

The communal kitchen was already stirring when she stepped inside. Mimics bustled in every corner, their stolen faces pale and jittering with hunger.

Utensils clattered, voices overlapped in borrowed tones, and the sharp scent of raw meat clung to the air.

They hunted, too.

Marron didn't actually remember any ingredients present in the lower level's kitchen--it had been too dark to discern what was what.

Maybe she had been too harsh with Mimic Marron--she had only been cooking from the limited memories she had absorbed.

"This is so different from the third floor."

She had a sinking feeling it was going to be a bit more challenging, talking to these mimics.

Marron squared her shoulders and headed straight for the pantry. A broad-shouldered dwarf mimic moved in her path, arms folded across his chest. His stolen eyes gleamed like polished glass.

"Kitchen's closed until Lieutenant says so." His voice carried that unmistakable, territorial authority of someone who thought they owned the space.

Marron stopped short. Her pulse spiked. Was this a challenge?

She slid one hand into her apron, fingers curling around the bone shard. The runes glowed faintly as she drew it out, holding it high enough for the light to catch.

"Lieutenant brought me here," she replied, steady but sharp.

The dwarf mimic didn't look convinced. Marron pulled out the bone shard.

"He did. See?"

His posture shifted at once. He bowed sharply toward her, like invisible hands were maneuvering him.

The dwarf mimic waited a few beats before standing straight again. Then he shuffled aside without a word, no longer daring to meet her eyes.

"I apologize for questioning you, Chef."

Marron walked past with deliberate calm, though inside her heart hammered.

It...worked. Just like that.

She tried hard not to enjoy the moment.

+

She set her ingredients at her station: baskets of eggs, a bundle of dried mushrooms, a sack of barley rice. Normal, simple food. Comforting food. Her hands moved automatically, rinsing, slicing, arranging.

Around her, mimics whispered. Some curious, some deferential. A few looked at her the way wolves might look at a rival wolf who'd just returned with the alpha's scent on their fur.

Not all respect was genuine.

But with each crack of an eggshell, each steady stroke of her knife, Marron reasserted control over the room.

The rhythm of cooking was a language they didn't fully understand, but they recognized its power.

Dishes left her station and disappeared into eager hands. Borrowed mouths chewed. Stolen voices hummed with satisfaction.

Not suspicion. Not yet.

Still, she felt eyes watching her. Too many, and too often.

Marron wished she could make them all go away.

+

The rush slowed near midday. Marron finally exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she leaned over a pot of mushroom broth. Steam clouded her face.

A mimic with the face of a tired old man shuffled closer, peeling carrots with slow, uneven strokes. His knife clacked against the cutting board in a lazy rhythm, and he hummed tunelessly under his breath.

"You've got the token, eh?" he said, tilting his head toward her apron pocket. His grin showed a crooked row of teeth. "Bold move, that."

Marron didn't look up from her broth. "It was given to me."

"Mm. They always say that." He chuckled, then lowered his voice, leaning closer. "Hope you're ready for the stories that come with it."

Her hand froze mid-stir. "Stories?"

He nodded, eyes darting toward the darkest corner of the kitchen, where the shadows seemed to thicken unnaturally.

"We call her the Jilted Lover."

Marron's pulse skipped.

"She thought the Lieutenant only had eyes for her," the mimic said, voice lilting like a gossipy tavern regular.

"But that was never true. He hardly looked her way. It didn't stop her from creating a one-sided love story. And when she saw others carrying his token…"

His face flickered suddenly, as if the memory itself twisted his stolen mask. "…she went after them. One by one."

Marron tightened her grip on the ladle. "What happened to her?"

"No one knows." His voice dropped to a whisper.

"Some say the Captain culled her. Others say she slipped through the cracks, still here, hiding, waiting. Every time the Lieutenant hands out a token, she comes crawling back. Hunting. Because in her mind, it should have been hers."

The shadows at the edge of the kitchen pulsed again, darker this time.

Marron's skin prickled. She thought of last night, when her back had burned with the weight of unseen eyes.

That hadn't been paranoia.

+

Ding!

[New Quest: Revenge Served Cold]

Objective: Flush out the mimic known as the "Jilted Lover" before she strikes.

Reward: Private Quarters (to examine the map without drawing suspicion)

+

Her knife hit the cutting board with a sharp thud. She barely caught herself before slicing too deep into the carrot.

Private Quarters. A room of her own, not just borrowed from an inn, and she could examine the map.

The one thing she'd wanted more than anything since being dragged into this nightmare.

But the cost…

"Great," she muttered under her breath. "A delusional and jealous monster. Just what I needed."

The System didn't reply.

She forced herself to keep chopping, each stroke steady, deliberate. On the outside, she was just another cook preparing another meal. Inside, her mind spun with calculations.

She couldn't risk drawing negative attention. Couldn't let on that she knew the danger was already in the room.

If she failed this quest, she might not even live long enough to reclaim her cart.

+

The chatty mimic finished peeling his carrot, oblivious to her inner turmoil. "Best advice I can give?" he said with a wink. "Keep the token hidden. Don't flaunt it. The more it shines, the faster she sees you."

Marron forced a polite smile. "Thanks."

Her gaze drifted, unbidden, toward the far corner again. Nothing moved there. But the shadows felt thicker, heavier, like they had weight.

She turned back to her cutting board and pressed the knife flat to the wood, grounding herself with the feel of it.

"I guess I've got another dish to prepare," she whispered.

Not for the mimics. Not even for herself.

This one was for the unseen guest who thought she could starve Marron out of her own future.

A dish of survival, plated with steel and salt.