The day of the reopening arrived with the city already awake. Elandra thrummed like a beehive, streets full of guild messengers, children weaving between carts, vendors hawking oranges and skewers. Inigo had chosen a space near the plaza, not far from the Adventurer's Guild and the market lane, because foot traffic mattered more than anything else.
The sign was freshly painted. Riko, the boy who had insisted on misspelling everything on the chalkboard menu, had already been by earlier, whistling while he set out benches. The golden arches—a crude but recognizable emblem Inigo had carved and painted himself—hung proudly over the stall.
Inside, it smelled like sizzling meat and hot oil.
"First order of the day," Inigo said, tying on an apron. "Keep it simple. Burgers, fries, drinks. No experiments. We want people remembering us exactly how we left them."
