The restaurant was called Mira's Kitchen.
Not that it mattered.
But the smell...
God, the smell.
Grilled meat. Simmering stew. Fresh bread. Spices Kael couldn't name but immediately wanted to eat by the handful. The kind of food that reminded you hunger existed for good reasons.
Perfect.
Kael slid into a corner booth with a clear sightline to the bungalow's front window. The distance was maybe sixty meters—close enough to see movement through the curtains, far enough that nobody inside would notice a man eating dinner.
He ordered everything.
Steak. Medium rare. A bowl of something thick and brown that the waitress called "Morir special." Bread rolls—four of them. A plate of roasted vegetables that glistened with oil. And a bottle of something amber and strong that burned going down and warmed the belly after.
The first bite of steak made him close his eyes.
