The steam from his stew curled upward in lazy spirals, carrying the rich scent of herbs and slow-cooked meat. Kael took a sip, letting the warmth settle in his chest. Across from him, Liora had just torn a piece of bread and dipped it into her bowl, eyes half-closing in quiet satisfaction.
This, this was the kind of evening he'd promised himself when he first woke in this world. A peaceful table, good food, someone whose laughter could make his shoulders loosen without him realizing it.
It would've been perfect.
If not for the three jackals at the other side of the room.
Kael took another spoonful and forced his jaw to stay relaxed. In his peripheral vision, the tall man sat like a blade in a sheath, still, but ready, his gaze wandering over the room only to settle far too often on Liora.
Kael's fingers twitched against the table.
I should've killed you before the stew came out.
No, bad thought. He was Kael right now. Kael was a decent man who didn't casually imagine breaking kneecaps during dinner.
Still…
It wasn't even their crimes that made his blood itch at the moment. Yes, they were cultists. Yes, they had Void-tainted mana that stank of every kind of wrong. Yes, they probably had a trail of bodies behind them.
But none of that compared to their real crime tonight: ruining his chance to fully enjoy a rare, peaceful meal with Liora without watching the corner of the room like a hawk.
His inner voice was already halfway into a rant. I'm finally here, eating with a girl who smiles at me like that, and you three think you can just… sit there? Like a storm cloud in my sunshine? Oh no. Oh no no no.
He caught himself before his expression could betray him and forced a small smile as Liora looked up.
«You're quiet,» she said, tilting her head.
«Just… enjoying the food,» Kael replied evenly. And plotting triple homicide, but let's not share that part.
She smirked. «That's a first. You usually have at least one sarcastic comment about my cooking speed.»
«I didn't make a sarcastic comment because your cooking speed was perfect this time.»
Her smile widened. «You're just saying that because you got company tonight.»
«I'm saying that because it's true,» he said, and for once he wasn't entirely lying.
They kept talking, drifting between topics, small stories about annoying customers, Kael's vague mentions of «travels,» light teasing about his expressionless eating habits. On the surface, it was comfortable, warm.
Underneath, Kael's mind was splitting into two precise tracks:
One focused on her, on making her laugh, on savoring each expression she made as she spoke.
The other traced every subtle move from the opposite table. The limp of the second man when he shifted. The way the woman occasionally adjusted her hood as if to block lines of sight. And the tall man, always the tall man, whose eyes lingered too long each time Liora stood or leaned forward.
Kael took a slow breath, forcing a calm he didn't feel.
You're here as Kael. Kael doesn't leap across tables in the middle of dinner and drive a shadow blade through someone's chest.
But the Ghost does.
That thought came with a dangerous comfort he tried to push aside. He'd deal with them, but later. Right now…
Liora laughed at something he said about «pretending to be mysterious to get bigger tips,» and he felt a stab of guilt for not being able to give her his whole attention.
Look at her, he scolded himself. You're not the man you used to be. You're supposed to help the good people and deal with the bad ones without letting them take away your joy.
He picked up his spoon again, trying to relax his grip. Enjoy this. Smile. Have no guilt for it.
A shadow of movement in the corner of his eye, the tall man adjusting his seat to better face their table, tore through that fragile calm.
Kael smiled wider, this time for show. Smile now. Kill later. Smile now. Kill later.
«What's so funny?» Liora asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.
«Just… thinking about how the cook is going to tease me about this for the next decade,» Kael said smoothly.
She chuckled, shaking her head. «You do deserve it a little.»
«Deserve is a strong word.»
«So is 'predictable.'»
That drew a genuine laugh from him, one that briefly softened the taut wire of his thoughts.
Still, when her eyes drifted away for a second, his gaze flicked back to the cultists. He watched the way the limping man leaned in toward the tall one, whispering something that made the latter's jaw flex slightly.
Kael took another slow bite of stew.
On the surface, it was just dinner.
Underneath, it was a coin balanced on its edge, waiting for the smallest nudge to send it spinning.
The spoon in Kael's hand slowed mid-stir.
There, just beneath the comfortable hum of clinking cutlery and low conversation, something foreign pulsed through the air. It was faint, so faint that anyone without years of mana training wouldn't even notice it.
Kael noticed it instantly.
A ripple. Smooth, almost soothing, like silk drawn across skin. But underneath it was the tight, controlled hum of intent. A spell, subtle, deliberate, and aimed not at destruction but influence.
His gaze didn't need to shift to know where it came from.
The hooded woman at the opposite table had been silent all night. Now, her fingers rested lightly on the rim of her cup, eyes half-lidded as if in thought. From her, the magic spread outward in an invisible arc, threads of compulsion woven with a charm that would feel like a warm suggestion in the mind of anyone it touched.
Its target sat just ten feet away, the cook, currently bent over the counter, wiping his hands on a towel.
Kael didn't have to guess what she wanted. That kind of layered compulsion wasn't for small talk. It was for easy compliance with a simple order… like signaling the room that the restaurant was closing early. Clearing it of customers. Isolating prey.
He didn't let his expression change. His mana flared, silent, colorless to all but the most trained eyes, and reached out like an unseen blade. He severed the spell mid-flight, dispersing the charm into harmless nothing before it could touch the cook's mind.
The cook straightened a second later, completely unaware, and reached for another pot.
Liora, oblivious to the quiet war of wills taking place a few meters away, was speaking about a regular customer who insisted on ordering the same soup every Tuesday for six years.
Kael nodded in the right places, kept his voice steady. His awareness stayed split, half on her, half tracking every micro-movement at the cultists' table.
It wasn't easy.
She tilted her head after a lull in the conversation. «Can I ask you something?»
He glanced at her briefly. «Of course.»
«Have you ever had… you know… someone special?»
It was a dangerous question at the best of times. Right now, while his attention was locked on reading every flicker of Void-tainted mana across the room, it was a trap.
His mouth moved before his mind caught up. «No. I never felt emotions before… until I met you. And loved you from the first glance.»
The words were out, clear and unhesitating.
Then his brain caught up.
…Wait.
Wait, what?
Liora froze, spoon halfway to her mouth. Her eyes widened just enough to tell him she'd heard every word perfectly.
Kael's stomach plummeted.
Oh, brilliant, Kael. Absolutely flawless. Confess your feelings in the middle of a surveillance operation because your reflex brain can't multitask without spilling your heart out.
He felt heat creep up his neck, and for a moment, the cultists weren't the most dangerous thing in the room, Liora's soft, stunned expression was.
She set her spoon down gently, leaning forward slightly. «Kael…»