After wriggling out of a child's grasp, I found myself drawn toward the bustling kitchen, where the sounds of clattering pans and the rich scents of cooking filled the air. Gunther and the other cooks were already busy, slicing, stirring, and seasoning in preparation for the lunch rush. Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaped onto one of the counters, hoping for a closer inspection—and maybe a little taste.

"Gunther!" I called out, my ‘meow’ cutting through the clamor.

The large, muscular man with a thick black beard turned from his task of whisking a mysterious green concoction in a bowl. The moment he saw me, a broad grin spread across his face, softening his rugged features. But it didn't last long; he put on a stern expression, his voice playfully gruff as he scolded, “Off the counter, you naughty little cat!”

Even as he spoke, the warmth in his eyes betrayed his amusement, and I knew he wasn’t really angry.

“Are you hungry, boy?” He asked.

My stomach grumbled.

Yes, I am, indeed! What delectable offerings do you have, good sir? A bowl of roe, perhaps? Or is it caviar? Maybe even steamed lobster, dripping with butter?

Gunther nodded with a wink. “I'll whip up something for you.”

My tail swayed excitedly from side to side as I watched him stride over to another counter. He picked up a small bowl, added a powdery substance, and filled it with water. After stirring the mixture with a spoon, he placed it in front of me. I sniffed the lump of wet, brown mush in the bowl, then glanced up at Gunther, questioning if this was truly the best he could offer.

He raised an eyebrow, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. “What? Don’t get all snobby on me now. It’s all we’ve got until I head to Floating City later today for another supply run. You can wait until then.”

I glanced over at his kitchen crew, busy stirring and whipping up ingredients in their mixing bowls, and wondered if it might be wiser to wait and see what they were preparing for lunch. My eyes wandered around the kitchen, searching for any stray roe or perhaps a shrimp—anything that could serve as a small, satisfying bite, even if it was just the tail.

Gunther caught my wandering gaze and chuckled. “Don't get your hopes up, Page. Lunch is nothing fancy—just hardtack, seaweed salad, and plain old porridge.”

I sniffed the brown mush again, my senses recoiling at its unappealing aroma. A part of me wanted to hold out until I could catch the next boat to the city, where a better meal awaited, but my growling stomach demanded to be fed right now. With a resigned sigh, I reluctantly took a small bite. The mush was uncomfortably wet—Gunther had clearly added too much water—and its blandness only made it harder to swallow.

As I forced myself to stomach the mush, the cooks began discussing the fate of the missing scavengers. Some were convinced they had met their end during the violent storm that had struck a year ago. Others speculated that the scavengers might have encountered a rogue band of seafarers—a rare but not entirely impossible event—meeting a grim fate, either killed or taken prisoner.

But, despite differing theories, most agreed on one sad truth: they would likely never see them again. Of the hundreds of expeditions the scavenging crew had undertaken, they had always returned within the expected time frame—never a day late. But this time was different. Seven hundred days had passed, and still, there was no sign of them.

Gunther quickly motioned for the cooks to quiet down as he noticed Alan approaching the kitchen with her empty tray. The others exchanged knowing glances, their grins widening as they shared an unspoken understanding. A few, however, simply rolled their eyes. Straightening up, he greeted her with a respectful nod, taking the tray from her hands and placing it on a counter already cluttered with trays and dishes by the sink.

“Good morning, Officer Alan,” he said with a cordial tone, flashing her a sideways grin. “Do you want any snacks to take with you to your cabin? I think we've still got some seaweed chips in the pantry. I can take them up for you.”

“Oh, I came here to get the little guy,” she said as she reached down to scratch me behind the ear. My heart swelled with relief, and I looked up at her with gratitude. Without hesitation, I rushed into her waiting arms, more than happy to leave behind the mush.

“But I do have a question for you about fish,” she added.

He grinned with a hint of pride. “Sure, ask me anything. I know quite a bit about fish—how to cook them, how to catch them, and, of course, how to enjoy them.”

“What do you know about pufferfish?”

“Pufferfish? Those cute little creatures—I like to call them blowfish.”

“Blowfish?”

“If you tease them or threaten them, they blow themselves up like a balloon. But don't let their cuteness fool you; they're incredibly poisonous. They're more lethal than cyanide. Still, that doesn't stop some people from risking it all to enjoy them.”

Alan's eyebrows shot up in disbelief as if she’d just heard something impossible. “People actually eat them?”

I was also surprised. The idea of someone willingly eating something so deadly was just so baffling! It seemed to defy all logic and common sense.

Gunther nodded. “They sure do. Some people love to flirt with danger. Even in the old days, before the Great Wrath, pufferfish were considered a delicacy. Only chefs specifically trained to handle this deadly fish could prepare it.”

“Do you know any cooks who prepare or sell pufferfish?”

Gunther scratched his head, pondering. “Hmm, I know a guy in Floating City who serves blowfish on the menu. He’s the only one I can think of; no one else would dare to try it.”

“What’s his name?”

He shrugged. “No one really knows. People just call him the Blowfish Man. He’s ancient, they say—been around longer than most can remember. Before the Great Wrath, he was supposedly a renowned chef. And back then, blowfish was his specialty, the thing he was known for.”

Gunther paused, his gaze shifting to Alan with a flicker of curiosity. “So, what’s got you so interested in blowfish? Are you thinking of giving it a little try?”

“I'm not sure about eating something that could kill you.”

“It's not as bad as it sounds! With the right seasoning, it's actually quite delicious.”

“You've tried it before?” Alan asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Just once,” Gunther admitted, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “The Blowfish Man really knows his way around the kitchen, though I swear I felt a bit of tingling in my face afterward. But I'd be willing to risk it again. If you're up for it, I could take you to the restaurant sometime–”

Alan glanced at the wall clock and said, “I’d love to stay and chat, but I need to hurry and catch the boat to Floating City.”

With that, she hurried out the kitchen, cradling me in her arms. We arrived too late to catch the boat. We missed it by just a minute. As we reached the main deck, the stewards were already pulling up the side lift that had been used to lower passengers aboard.

Alan sighed in frustration with herself as I slipped out of her arms. I then propped myself up on the bottom rail. The boat, crowded with people, was already speeding away, disappearing into the distance as it headed toward the city, its silhouette a wavering blur on the horizon.