Elara brought the skewer to her lips. She took a tiny, highly calculated bite from the very edge of the meat cube, ensuring the grease did not touch the corners of her mouth. She chewed slowly. The texture was rough, the meat was tough, and the spice was aggressively loud, lacking any of the subtle refinement of the royal kitchens.
It was utterly inefficient.
"Well?" Julian asked.
"It provides adequate caloric energy," Elara stated. Then, remembering her parameters, she amended, "It is... okay food."
Julian beamed, entirely victorious. He pushed the plate closer to her. "Have another bite. We have a long night ahead of us."
### The Pickpocket
As they finished their meal and stepped back out into the crowded arteries of the market, the sun began to dip below the horizon. The sky bruised into shades of deep violet and burnt orange, and the streetlamps—powered by cheap oil and magic stones—began to flicker to life, casting long, shifting shadows across the cobblestones.
