Copper & Thyme was as warm inside as it had looked from the street.
The dining room was small—maybe ten tables, each with a simple white cloth and a single candle. The walls were painted a soft cream color, and copper pots hung from hooks along one wall, catching the candlelight like small suns. It smelled incredible: roasted herbs, butter, something sweet baking in the back.
It felt like the street market and the upper district had somehow found a middle ground—beautiful but not pretentious, elevated but not cold.
"Sit," Simone said, gesturing to a table near the window. "I'll get us some tea."
Marron sat, her eyes drawn back to the window display. The pot was even more striking from this side, backlit by the fading sunlight. She could see the inscription more clearly now—strange symbols that seemed to shimmer slightly, as if they were moving.
