"No!"

The scream surrounded me. Everything was dark, but I could still hear that voice.

"No!"

I couldn't move. Fear locked my muscles into place, but the shriek persisted on. Always the same.

"No!"

Static. Unending. The same word, over and over agai—

"Rian!"

I bolted upright, gasping for breath. The back of my eyes burned, and I stifled a sob.

It had changed.

My fingers dug into the bedsheets, and I bit my lip until I tasted copper. That dream had been tormenting me for years, but it was always the same. Always that piercing screech. But this time . . .

"Don't think about it!" I said sharply, still a bit breathless. Nothing good would come of me dwelling on the past. I knew that, but ghosts of people long gone still haunted me wherever I went. I could only hope it wasn't the same for—

"No," I mumbled, a wave of exhaustion overcoming me. "He's fine. He doesn't remember."

I fell back, limp, and stared at the ceiling of my bedroom. There was a glimmer of sunlight peeking through the window blinds, but the beauty of the sunrise was wasted on me. I didn't have the right to appreciate beauty anymore.

My right hand throbbed painfully. "I should probably change the bandage," I murmured, trying to convince myself to move, but I remained where I was. Frozen, just like before.

A sharp knock on my bedroom door startled me out of my thoughts. I sat up hastily as Rokim stuck his head inside. "Rise and shine, Han!"

I blinked as he flicked on the lights. "What are you doing here so early?" 

"I figured you wouldn't be totally adjusted to the time difference, so I thought I'd pop by. Make sure you don't oversleep." Rokim tossed me a water bottle before closing the door. "Get changed, we leave in a half hour," he called, the wall muffling his voice.

I stared at the water bottle in my hands. It had already been a few days since Rian joined the class, and today was supposed to be the last day of his crash course. But after the dream I'd just had, my stomach churned at the thought.

"Ah, whatever!" I blurted, frustrated with myself. I marched to the bathroom, determined to forget after a long, hot shower.

Thirty minutes later, I emerged from my room fully dressed. Rokim was lounging on the couch, but sat up as I came out. "Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yep!" I declared resolutely. While in the shower, I'd figured that what was triggering everything—the episodes, the nightmares—was my interactions with Rian. As long as I kept my conversation with him to a minimum, I should be fine.

It probably won't even require much effort, I thought wryly. He's not exactly a chatterbox.

The walk to school went by quickly. Before I knew it, we were in class. I hesitated momentarily before heading inside.

Immediately, I heard Prof's voice echoing throughout the large room, giving specific assignments to each student. I used the familiar sound to reassure myself: everything would be fine.

I dropped my bag on my table and nodded to Rokim as he went over to his station. As I grabbed an apron off a nearby hook, I caught sight of Rian. 

He was already waiting in my kitchenette, leaning against the counter with a half-apron lazily tied around his waist. I forced myself not to look for too long; with every passing second, the pit in my stomach grew deeper. 

Nonetheless, I was determined not to lose my nerve. Slipping on my apron, I reached my station just as Prof headed over to give us our assignment.

"As for you two," he said. "You got a handle on vegetables with the ratatouille. Try using meat today."

"Sure thing, Prof," I agreed. After he left, I grabbed one of the hunks of tenderloin beef reserved for class uses. I avoided Rian's gaze, and instead laid the beef out on a cutting board. 

"Remember all those knives from before?" I asked, gesturing towards the knife stand. "We're gonna use them today."

I could feel Rian's stare boring into my back, but ignored it as best I could. "First you'll need a carving knife." 

"And the dish?"

Hearing his voice made the abyss in my gut widen. "What do you think?" I asked impulsively. A strange sense of apology washed over me, and I felt the need to ask his opinion rather than just order him around. "What do you want to make?"

After a pause, Rian responded. "Roast beef tenderloin."

I straightened in surprise, my back still to him. "Roast beef?" I asked. "With what?"

"French onion au jus."

I pondered for a minute. "Sounds good," I assented. "We can make the french onion soup separately and add it to the beef after it's cooked. Thyme or garlic?" 

 "Both. Peppercorn as well."

"Alright then, let's get to it." I stepped aside, leaning into the corner of the kitchenette. Since my right hand was still out of commission, I settled on directing him verbally. Unlike the past couple of days, I didn't physically correct his stance or posture. I could barely look at him without feeling a wave of contrition; touching him was definitely out of the question.

As I blankly watched his hands prepare the soup, my thoughts drifted. Memories of my nightmare resurfaced, and I resisted the urge to squeeze my eyes shut at the voice echoing in my ears. The dream's jarring end played in my head, over and over.

Rian!

"Hanna."

The sound of my name snapped me out of my melancholy. My eyes shot forward against my better judgement. Rian was staring down at me, and I felt myself being entranced by his gaze. After all my effort, it took just one look from him to draw me back in.

"What?" I questioned tensely. Even as my right side began to twinge, I couldn't bring myself to look elsewhere. Those merciless black orbs wouldn't let me.

"I need you to focus." 

I blinked. "I am focused."

He took a step forward, and I was suddenly painfully aware of the cramped space we were in. My position in the corner of the kitchenette trapped me, only a few inches from Rian's chest. He placed a hand on the counter to either side of me and leaned forward, glaring down at me relentlessly. My face began to warm, and any protests I may have had died in my throat. 

"You've been distracted. You drift off to who knows where every few minutes. You've barely given me any pointers." His glare intensified, and I finally found the strength to shift my eyes away. "And you won't look at me. Does that seem focused to you?"

Now that I wasn't pinned under his gaze, I felt myself growing irritated at his condescending tone. "Like I said," I snapped, ignoring his proximity as best I could. "I am focused. There's not a single thing you've done in this kitchen that I haven't noticed you doing."

Rian narrowed his eyes. "Like what?"

I raised a brow. "You want a list?"

"Go ahead."

"Fine." I cleared my throat. "Your knife handling was sloppy. You sawed through the meat instead of cutting it. The angle was all wrong too. You do realize you can't kill the cow twice?"

Rian blinked. "That wasn't—"

"I'm not done," I interrupted, ticking off my fingers with each point. "You also seem incapable of correctly cutting an onion. The thyme was not chopped finely or evenly. There was a teaspoon too much butter in the french onion au jus. And," I paused to take a breath, "you over-roasted the beef."

Rian crossed his arms. "I did not over-roast the beef."

"Then where's that burning smell coming from?"

He sniffed the air and spun around, quickly turning off the stove-oven. I watched as he withdrew the slightly singed roast beef and placed it on the counter with a scowl. 

"Just because I don't call you out on those things doesn't mean I don't see them when they happen." I cast my eyes to the floor, feeling my anger dissipate. "It's my responsibility to make sure you do the best you can," I muttered, a pang shooting through my right side at the word 'responsibility'. "Constant criticism won't help."

Rian remained silent. I took the opportunity to exit the corner I was in and grabbed a wooden spoon. Moving past him quietly, I tasted the french onion soup. "It's good. Try offsetting the garlic with a bit more pepper. That will alleviate the burned taste of the meat."

I handed the spoon to Rian, still not looking him in the eye. "Here."

After a moment, he took it and lowered the fire on the stove to a simmer. I monitored for a few more seconds before excusing myself to grab some materials from the front of the class. While doing so, Prof approached me. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure, what's up?" I replied, grateful for a distraction.

"It's about Leo." 

I frowned. "Leo? The old AC?" I asked confusedly. "What about him?"

Prof scratched his head. "It turns out that his recovery may take a little longer than expected. As in he may not be back at all."

I blinked in shock. "What? Why not?"

Prof winced a little. "He said something or other about not having enough time to enjoy himself with this job, being over-stressed, et cetera."

"Oh. Harsh."

Prof shrugged. "It's an occupational hazard. I suppose we can offer the replacement AC a permanent position when we find one, that part doesn't really matter. The big issue is that neither Leo nor the replacement will be here in time for the Evaluation Competition."

My eyes widened. The Evaluation Competition was an internationally recognized event, where several of the country's top culinary academies sent one chef and an assistant to prepare an original dish for a panel of gourmet judges. There was even this huge gala they threw right before the big day—the Evaluators' Ball—meant just for the head of each culinary school. The winner's school received huge funding sums, all the way until the next competition. 

"But we need an AC!" I protested. "We can't enter without one! How are we supposed to—oh." A sudden realization dawned on me. "Oh."

Prof nodded. "Rian's the only AC we've got, and since you're the only one who's familiar with him . . . "

"B-but I'm not!" I stammered, horrified by this unforeseen turn of events. "I don't know him at all!" I scrambled to find an acceptable excuse as to why this was not an option. "We just met, like, um, a few days ago, and the ecomp is a huge deal, and also he's not the most pleasant person to be around—"

"You're our top student," Prof interjected, patting my shoulder. "The competition requires a chef and an AC, so it makes sense that it'd be you two. I'll speak with you both about it more tomorrow, but for now just try and get a feel for each other's cooking styles. I'll be too busy getting ready for the Evaluators' Ball to really help much, so make an effort. You'll be spending a lot of time with each other from here on out."

He smiled and walked away, leaving me dumbfounded. How did it come to this? I thought, stunned.

Dazed, I gathered my materials and walked back to my station. The rest of the class passed by in a blur. Finally, Prof sampled Rian's dish. "Excellent," he nodded in approval. "The burnt flavour of the meat goes well with the thyme and pepper. Consider using pink peppercorn to contrast the garlic for next time."

Unable to speak, I simply nodded my understanding. "Well done, both of you," Prof finished, with a meaningful look in my direction. "You make a good team."

I groaned internally. The ecomp required the contestants to be in perfect synch and rhythm. We'd have to spend a good deal of time both inside and outside the classroom, practicing and coming up with dish ideas. Innumerable hours spent together. No breaks.

I closed my eyes in defeat. There really was no rest for the wicked, huh?