Kyle stirred his coffee with slow, absent motions, the spoon tapping lightly against the porcelain.
The dark, bitter scent rose with each swirl, mingling faintly with the sweetness of vanilla drifting in from the café's pastry counter.
He didn't even like black coffee. But in a place like this. It felt like the proper thing to order.
'Noble etiquette', he thought dryly.
'Smile politely. Sip something overpriced. Pretend you aren't here to dissect someone's political throat.'
A quick glance at his mana band.
[4:28 PM]
Two minutes to go.
The café hummed softly. Low voices, the gentle clink of silverware, the faint rustle of linen as servers moved between tables.
Sunlight poured through tall windows, scattering gold across polished wooden floors. White tablecloths. Thin porcelain cups. Waiters dressed as if they were auditioning for an opera.
It was the sort of place Seraphina had dragged him to on more than one weekend, insisting he "needed to appreciate refinement."
