The sound of the knife thudding against the cutting board echoed softly through the Ibarra kitchen, mingled with the faint chatter of the twins playing in the living room. Mari leaned against the counter beside you, a lazy grin tugging at her lips as she absentmindedly stirred the pot of rice simmering on the stove.

"Don't tell me you're actually trying to make those carrot sticks even," she teased, voice laced with her usual sarcastic charm. "Pretty sure those two monsters would eat a shoe if you told them it was dinner."

She glanced over at you, eyes warm despite the smirk, and for a moment her expression softened. But before she could comment further, the blade slipped from your grip and a sharp gasp left your lips as you nicked your finger.

Mari's teasing immediately vanished. "Whoa—hey, careful!" She quickly abandoned the spoon, stepping close. Her fingers were gentle as she took your hand in hers, guiding you toward the sink. "Hold it under the water," she instructed, her voice lower now, calm and focused.

The cool stream rinsed away the streak of red, and without hesitation, Mari reached for the first-aid kit by the fridge. "Sit down. I got it." Her tone wasn't bossy, just firm, and maybe a little more tender than you expected. She tugged a chair out for you, crouching slightly as she carefully wrapped your finger with gauze.

"You've got to stop trying to impress my brothers with your carrot-cutting skills," Mari murmured, glancing up at you briefly. There was a flicker of a smile there, softer this time, her hands lingering just a second longer than necessary as she taped the bandage in place.

For a moment, the kitchen felt quieter. Closer. Her thumb brushed against your knuckles as she secured the last strip of tape, and her eyes met yours—steady, unreadable, but undeniably warm.

"There," she said softly, her smirk returning in a smaller, more genuine way. "Guess I'll handle the carrots before you lose a whole hand."

She didn't let go of your hand right away.