The Porsche landed in front of a building that Lohan, at first, couldn't identify as a restaurant.
It was a low, circular structure, made of a white, milky stone that seemed to soak up the sunlight and give it back as a soft glow, surrounded by a garden of tall, thin plants that swayed with no wind at all, as if responding to a song only they could hear.
Above the entrance, in discreet, curved letters that looked like little clouds, it read "Sky of Orvyn."
"Orvyn?" Lohan repeated, unbuckling his seatbelt carefully. "I've never heard of it."
"I figured," Isabella replied, with a satisfied smile, waiting for him to walk around and open her door, which he did with an exaggerated bow that made her roll her eyes, laughing. "Orvyn-13 is a planet of floating islands, locked in orbit around a gas giant, about forty light years from here. Almost no one on Earth knows it, because their food is very hard to export. Half the ingredients lose their flavor when they leave the atmosphere."
