On the north side of Lambeth Bridge, the café has an unremarkable facade, but upon closer inspection, one can see a sign at the entrance that reads "The Ephesian Whisper."
The afternoon sunlight filters through the half-open blinds, casting slanting rays inside the room and stretching the shadows of the guests long.
Among all the guests, the one sitting by the window seems particularly eye-catching.
Wearing a deep purple robe over a woolen cape, the hem embroidered with delicate gold lines, you can vaguely see through the robe that he is wearing snow-white pants and edged soft leather boots below. Although this outfit might seem disorienting in London, paired with his well-trimmed beard and the lapis lazuli silver ring he toys with between his fingers, it somehow feels quite fitting.
Arthur arrived five minutes earlier than the agreed time.
He removed his hat as he entered the café, glancing around the room before his gaze confidently settled on the man by the window.
