The Farming Saint in the Starry Wasteland (Elizabeth Schofield) novel Chapter 399

Chapter 399 Captain Brawn

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Baxter started to call out a habitual Command before sitting down, but Elizabeth caught his eye and gave a small shake of her

head. He swallowed the words.

She picked up her own tray, loaded it with a few dishes, and settled in beside them “Go ahead! Make yourselves at home. Let m know if it suits your taste.”

The soldiers picked up their forks and spoons. At first, they were tentative. But then came the first bite of those poutine poppers tender, saturated with gravy and loaded with shredded cheese–and every single one of them lit up from the inside.

Then the crisp, clean vegetables. The savory, golden onion rings. The fluffy mac and cheese, the warm bread fresh from the oven Each bite was so good it made them want to swallow their own tongues just to keep tasting it.

Beanie’s cheeks bulged like a chipmunk’s. He mumbled around a mouthful of food, “Gosh, this is incredible. Onyx, I swear… I mi Ictually want to stay here and work the land.”

Onyx snorted a laugh. “You’re a lost cause,” he said.

But the speed at which he shoveled food into his own mouth told a different story.

‘he other soldiers said nothing. They didn’t need to. The way they attacked their trays and the light in their eyes said everything.

ven Baxter was chewing noticeably faster than usual, the hard lines of his face softening despite himself.

The clatter of bowls and spoons rose and fell around them. The air in the mess hall had turned warm and thick with contentment

leanie was already on his second helping of mac and cheese, staring at the leftover gravy on his tray and visibly debating whethe D mix it in or use it as a dip for his bread.

Onyx kept his head down, chewing steadily, glancing up now and then with an unusually relaxed set to his jaw.

Then laughter drifted in from the mess hall’s entrance.

Hey Owen, your team’s heading to Greenhouse No. 3 this afternoon, right? I’m short on seedling trays. Mind if I borrow some?”

Sure, grab them from Linnea. She’s got the keys. Just don’t mix up the varieties. Last time someone confused the cherry tomatoe: with the grape tomatoes. Almost threw off the whole transplant schedule.”

‘That was me, all right. She already chewed me out for u. You don’t have to pile on ”

The group filed in, talking as they went. There were seven or eight of them, wearing the farm’s standard coveralls, still carrying the smell of soil on their clothes. They grabbed trays and headed for the serving counter

Onyx was bent over his soup when he heard the voices. His chewing stopped midbite

He looked up. His gaze cut across the rows of tables and landed on the man walking at the front of the group.

The man was maybe 35 or 36. Lean built and broad shouldered, with a steady, grounded way of moving.

He wore a faded navy work jacket, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing a roadmap of old scars crisscrossing his forearms. His right leg dragged slightly with each step. And his left arm was a matte silver prosthetic from the elbow down, catching the

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5:39 pm

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Chapter 399 Captain Brawn

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cafeteria’s fluorescent light in low, metallic glints.

Onyx’s spoon clattered into his Dowl

He shot to his feet as if he’d been struck by lightning. The legs of his chair scraped across the floor in a raw, shrieking protest that made nearby tables turn and stare.

“C–Captain?” His voice came out dry and scraped raw.

The man didn’t hear him. He was turned slightly, talking to a soft–faced woman with a ponytail walking beside him.

Onyx took a step. Then another.

His broad, iron–frame body began to tremble. His eyes reddened fast.

“Captain Brawn!” The shout tore through the mess hall’s ambient noise, shredding the background chatter.

The man froze mid–stride.

He turned his head. His eyes met Onyx’s across the crowded room.

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