He's too good at this. It's still weird. It's never going to stop being weird, she's pretty sure of that. No matter how close he's been dragged down to her level by the removal of the Society's structure, this will always be weird.

She's diligent with her own tasks, too. The milk is set to curdle, the butter is melted, and she takes the flour to mix it in when Miguel passes it over.

"Uhhh— both. Separated the yolks, then whipped the whites later. I think."

The harder she has to think about the process, the closer she feels to a dangerous precipice of emotion that she doesn't want to cross. In true stubborn Spider fashion, she scrubs at her face with her sleeve and simply decides she won't.