Guts twisting, hungry. Earned with blood and bruises and sweat. But stolen, the bowl pulled away. Sustenance is never a promise. [ He has known hunger. Tricked and tricked again. What should be given is never got. An unhappy ache. Never again, he thinks. Not for the others.

The suspicion comes with reason. ]

... No? [ Cole blinks, shakes his head, insistence comes once more. ] The soup is good. It's not like before. It helps.