She's already cooking for half the town. I'd feel selfish asking her for more--

[Quentin's mouth feels desperately lonely and he eats the rest of the croissant quickly to make up for it. Reminding himself that Eliot doesn't remember and trying, trying, trying to remembering what it had been like. The last Key and before Quentin made a deal with Ora.

Fifty years and they are friends.]

Maybe she'll have leftovers. I can't wait to see how good you've become with a sword, though. Maybe we wont even have to fight, maybe your charming sword will just chase them all off.