Voren heard her. That much was obvious. He just wasn't going to answer.
He picked up the menu instead, giving it the kind of focused, unhurried attention that belonged to a man who had unilaterally decided the subject no longer existed and was moving forward accordingly.
His eyes tracked down the laminated page like he was genuinely weighing his options, which under different circumstances, with a different person sitting across from him, might have actually been convincing.
"Dragon stew, Nebula platter, crystal forest salad, volcano dumplings," he told the waiter without looking up, "and the aurora dessert sphere at the end."
Seraphine stared at the side of his face. "You should've let me order."
The annoyance in her voice was real, and only partly about the food. He'd dismissed her question with such complete, unrattled composure, hadn't fumbled, stalled, or even had the decency to pretend he hadn't heard it.
