The next morning the chalkboard sign hadn't even been set out when the first knock rattled the shutters.
Riko stumbled to the door with bed hair and yesterday's apron, muttering, "We're not even open yet." But when he slid the bolt, half a dozen townsfolk nearly toppled him with eagerness. Word had traveled fast—faster than a scent on the wind.
By the time the sun reached the plaza, the line stretched in both directions, curling around the fountain like a tail. This wasn't the familiar trickle of apprentices and guards. These were guild scribes in pressed grays, merchants in jewel-toned vests, students with ink on their fingers, and nobles with polished boots who had clearly never stood in a food line in their lives.
"Platinum," someone whispered reverently. "The burger of Platinums."
Lyra leaned against the counter, eyebrows raised. "They're not here for the food," she murmured to Inigo.
