The ride didn't last long.
By the time the city thinned into the older, quieter quarter, the car was already gliding into a narrow, cobblestoned lane where streetlamps burned low and gold against dark stone façades. The restaurant didn't have any mark to suggest its name. You would know it if you were the right person. The black-lacquered double doors were flanked by two uniformed staff who straightened the instant the car stopped, their posture shifting into the crisp, attentive readiness that came from knowing exactly who had arrived.
The door on Elias's side opened before he could reach for the handle. The night air was cool, scented faintly with the herbs and woodsmoke drifting from somewhere inside. Victor stepped out first, his height and the cut of his suit making the space around him contract, then turned to offer Elias his hand, not because Elias needed help, but because Victor wanted it that way.
