Aiden paused at the threshold of the restaurant, letting the ambient noise settle around him. Overhead, warm lights cast small circles onto polished timber tables. He counted the exits: one at the front, another through the kitchen, and the fire doors left unlatched beside a stand of potted bamboo. There were twelve tables, eight of which were occupied. The waitstaff moved in smooth, predictable lines, faces fixed in the bland professionalism that marked decent training. No security. That was good.
He inhaled. The place smelled faintly of eucalyptus cleaning spray over something buttery and rich. Glassware clinked. Someone at the bar laughed a little too loudly, which drew a glance from the head waiter. Aiden's gaze flicked from table to table: a couple in their forties, two friends sharing wine, a lone man in a suit, a family of three, a nervous pair on their first date. He tracked the subtle movements of knives, the position of handbags and phones, the shifting weight of bodies in chairs.
In less than ten seconds, he logged each detail and filed it away. No obvious threats. No sign of police. The closest potential weapon was a marble salt grinder within reach of most tables. He could break a stemmed glass if needed.
He kept his expression neutral, letting the mask of a slightly distracted professional settle into place. Everything felt under control, or as close as it ever came. Tonight would be routine. Or so he told himself.
He checked the time. On schedule. He recalled Elira's profile photo, running the image through his mind like a checklist. Jet black hair that hugged her waist. Emerald eyes that seemed too wide for her smile. Blue blouse. The photo was low quality, carefully chosen to hide details, and the effect was deliberate.
He swept his gaze over the restaurant, patient and methodical. He observed each woman dining alone, compared posture, hairstyle, and the colour of each blouse and dress. Two tables over, a woman in red sat tapping her phone. Not her. In the corner, another woman fixed her hair using the back of a spoon. Too old. A third lingered by the kitchen, scanning the menu with forced interest. Not a match.
Near the window, he saw her. Back straight, hands folded in her lap, her gaze moved between the wine list and the window. Black hair, but instead of a blue blouse, it was a tightly fitted black dress, one that highlighted her curves without showing them off. Her expression was unreadable. The set of her jaw matched the photo, but she looked more self-possessed in person.
He observed for a moment longer, noting how she barely moved. Her left hand tapped her thigh once before going still. She did not seem anxious, but she was alert. He committed each detail to memory, already sorting useful information from the rest. She could have been anyone, lost in the crowd, but there was an intentness to her stillness. Satisfied, Aiden moved towards her table, keeping his approach measured and deliberate.
Aiden lingered a step away, studying Elira as if she were a puzzle with half the pieces hidden. She kept her back straight, her movements measured. The black dress was carefully chosen. It made her stand out in the soft lighting but did not invite attention. Her hair framed her face in a perfect line, gleaming under the pendant lights.
He scanned her wrists, her fingernails, the angle of her chin. No rings, no visible scars. She was right-handed, or at least favoured her right. Her eyes, bright as emeralds, shifted over the menu, the window, and the polished surface of the table.
He watched for small tells, a twitch at the mouth, fingers twisting in her lap, a glance at her phone. None appeared. Her stillness was deliberate, not the awkwardness of an inexperienced date, nor the rigidity of someone meeting a stranger for the first time. It felt closer to intent.
Aiden rehearsed scenarios in his mind. If she was dangerous, he could retreat before she noticed. If she was prey, he could set the pace from the first word. There was always the option of immediate action: create a distraction, force a scene, and exit through the kitchen if needed. Nothing about her posture suggested violence or haste.
He smoothed any tension from his face and shoulders, fixing the faintest smile in place. Calm, professional, collected. As always. For the first time in a while, he felt unsure of what would come next.
He crossed the last few steps, steady and unhurried. He allowed a polite smile to touch his lips, the expression practised until it felt natural even when it meant nothing.
Elira looked up. For a moment, her emerald eyes seemed to catch the light, searching his face with a steady, unreadable focus. Her mouth curved into a small, polite smile in return.
"Aiden?" she asked, her voice calm and even.
He nodded, holding her gaze for a beat before speaking. "That's right. Elira?"
She nodded once, just as controlled as he had expected. He took the seat opposite her, choosing the spot with a clear view of the entrance. His back stayed close to the wall. Every movement remained measured, nothing rushed, nothing wasted.
For a second, he watched her reaction, searching for flickers of surprise, hesitation, or calculation. Instead, she only tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear and placed her hands neatly on the table. Her composure held.
He glanced once more at her dress, the way it skimmed her figure without inviting attention, then returned his attention to her face. Still no nervous fidget, no forced smile. She seemed perfectly at home in the moment.
Aiden let his own expression settle into pleasant neutrality. He could feel the beginnings of a challenge, something unfamiliar and intriguing.
"Nice place," he said lightly, just to break the silence.
Her reply was smooth, almost amused. "It's my favourite. I hope you don't mind."
He shook his head. "Not at all." He watched, noting every detail.
Aiden let the first few moments pass in easy silence, content to let the setting and the gentle murmur of the restaurant fill the gap. When he finally spoke, his tone was casual, nothing forced.
"Busy night," he remarked, nodding at the room. "Do you come here often?"
Elira's gaze flickered over the tables before returning to him. "Sometimes. Only when I want the food to be good. I quite like it here." Her answer was smooth, her delivery steady. No sign of nerves. She seemed to savour each word, speaking slowly enough that he could not tell if it was habit or design.
He leaned back in his chair, watching the small shifts in her posture. He offered a polite laugh, keeping his eyes on her hands. "Good food is rare in this part of town. I took your recommendation on faith."
She smiled, a slight curve that vanished almost as soon as it appeared. "I like to be trusted."
Aiden studied her response, searching for any subtle change. Her eyes did not dart away. She met his gaze with steady calm.
He picked up his water glass, swirling it once before setting it down untouched. "What do you do for work?" he asked, the question delivered as lightly as any other. It was harmless, the sort of thing people asked on first dates, but he listened for hesitation, for the pause that might betray a lie.
Elira's eyes glinted, a hint of amusement in them. "I'm a model. Some acting as well, when it suits." She did not elaborate. The words hung there, almost a challenge.
Aiden nodded, unreadable. "You have the presence for it." He knew her face from glossy magazines and social feeds, but made no mention of it. Tonight, he would let her decide who she wanted to be.
She tilted her head, considering him. "And you?"
"I'm a psychologist. Private clients, mostly." He matched her openness, the words smooth and rehearsed. "I run a consulting business on the side, but psychology is what I enjoy."
Elira held his gaze, her smile lingering a little longer. "That sounds interesting. A lot of people must tell you their secrets."
"Sometimes," Aiden replied. "Most people keep more hidden than they realise."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. He watched her for a sign of discomfort, any glance towards the door or the waitstaff, any fidget of her hands. Nothing.
He tried again. "You don't strike me as someone who likes simple things."
Her eyes narrowed, just slightly, and for the first time he saw something calculated in her smile. "Looks can be deceiving."
Aiden let the silence linger, feeling out the contours of the moment. Beneath the conversation, his mind tracked possibilities. If she grew suspicious, he could excuse himself easily. If she tried to probe deeper, he would steer the topic away. The room offered three exits. Two waiters stood behind the counter, lost in their own routines. He catalogued each detail again, building his plans on habit and instinct.
Across the table, Elira watched him with the same calm composure. There was a question in her eyes, though she gave him nothing else, no nervous tapping, no awkward glance. It was almost as if she enjoyed the silence, as if she welcomed the challenge.
He searched for a sign of calculation, something that would tell him her intent. Nothing revealed itself, not yet. Her restraint was as precise as his own.
Aiden let the corners of his mouth lift into another polite smile, a signal rather than an expression. He made a final note to himself: she might be interesting. The game was on.