NOAH
The black car climbed the winding roads toward the edge of the city, leaving the neon franticness of the business district behind for something altogether more ancient and quiet.
The restaurant was a fortress of understated power, a sprawling structure of glass and dark stone that seemed to grow out of the cliffside itself.
It was the kind of place that didn't need a sign. If you were meant to be there, you already knew the way.
The moment the car slowed, the choreography began. Uniformed staff appeared as if they'd been materialized by the sheer force of Cassian's arrival.
They didn't just open the door; they performed an act of welcome that made me feel like I was stepping into a private sanctum rather than a place of business.
We were led through the ground floor, a cathedral of white linen, floating crystal chandeliers, and the hushed, rhythmic clinking of silver against bone china.
