Page 20 of Sacrifice

Gunnar grunts across from me, clearly impatient with the interruption. I can’t help but smirk, knowing that annoyance is etched into every line of his body. I kick back, let myself enjoy the little things. After all, pleasure is a rare commodity in this brutal new world we navigate.

“Sounds delightful,” I say, picking up my fork. “Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

“Trust me, it does,” Aisling chimes in, clearly already having started.

I take a bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue, rich and perfectly balanced. Delicious. But then again, everything about this evening has been an unexpected treat. A dance of senses, a game of wits, and a chance to tilt the scales in this power-hungry city. And with Aisling and Gunnar, the stakes are always high.

The waiter’s presence fades away, swallowed by the engulfing darkness of Aetherius. I lean back, savoring the lingering taste of the duck, feeling the comfortable weight of potential allies in this void with me.

“Alright,” I begin, my voice a low hum that seems to vibrate in the absence of light. “Yes, I think I can sway enough Eclipse to join me. There’s a rumble in the ranks—discontent has been brewing.”

“Because of Caius and Lianna?” Aisling asks, her tone curious yet edged with caution. She knows as well as I do how swiftly tides can change in our world.

“Partly.” I take another bite, letting the silence stretch a moment. “They lost New Eden, and with it, Terra Vitae’s support. That kind of failure doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“Lianna’s grip was always tentative at best,” Gunnar says, his voice reflecting a hint of satisfaction. “This just proves what we’ve suspected.”

“Exactly. It’s left them vulnerable.” I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting victory amidst the remnants of dinner. “We need to exploit that weakness before they recover.”

“Agreed,” Aisling says, and there’s steel in her words—a promise of action. “But first, we have a more pressing issue to address—the final eros lab.”

The darkness feels charged now, the weight of her words heavy with implication. “Taking out that lab cuts off the Eclipse’s lifeline from the former ACB,” I agree, turning my head slightly towards where I sense her presence. The faint scent of her, that heady aroma of toasted sugar, teases my senses.

“Exactly. No lab, no funding, no weapons,” she affirms, and I can nearly hear the strategic gears turning in her mind. “Rook is already on it. He’s been scouring the desert for the Mojave lab.”

“Is he close?” I ask, interested despite myself.

“He has to be,” Aisling replies confidently. “I’ll swing by his room on the way back tonight, see what progress he’s made.”

“Good.” I nod, even though nobody can see it. “That lab is the linchpin. We pull it, and everything holding the Eclipse together starts to crumble.”

That’s when the scent of seared meat and herbs wafts towards us, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a knife through butter. The clink of porcelain and the soft swish of fabric announce the arrival of the main course before the waiter’s hushed voice confirms it. “Wagyu Beef with Smoked Paprika Glaze, Roasted Asparagus, and Potato Fondue.” His words are precise, deliberate, painting a picture we can’t see but can almost taste on our tongues.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and sense Aisling’s nod beside me. Gunnar’s grunt from across the way is acknowledgement enough for all of us. We wait in a collective breath held until we feel the presence of the waiter dissipate, swallowed up by the blackness that surrounds us.

The moment he’s gone, I reach out, my fingers finding the edge of the plate with practiced ease. The tender cut of beef yields to my touch, and I bring the first bite to my lips. The flavors explode—rich, smoky, with a hint of sweetness from the glaze. It’s a symphony of taste, each note perfectly balanced against the others.

It’s nothing short of culinary artistry, and I lose myself in the experience. For a brief interlude, the complexity of our situation fades into the background, giving way to the simple pleasure of eating. The darkness encourages an intimacy with the food that sight would only distract from. I savor every morsel, the texture of the asparagus just so, the fondue adding a creamy decadence that makes my mouth water.

Beside me, Aisling’s quiet movements suggest she’s doing the same, and even Gunnar’s occasional sighs speak volumes about his enjoyment despite his earlier annoyance.

There’s something to be said for moments like this, where the world narrows down to just the senses—taste, smell, the sound of our breathing, the distant melody playing somewhere beyond us.

It’s a reprieve from the reality waiting outside, a chance to fortify ourselves for what’s to come.

I set my fork down with a soft clink against the plate, signaling I’ve had my fill. The chair beneath me creaks slightly as I lean back and exhale, contented yet contemplative. “You know,” I start in a tone that’s half amusement, half reproach, “for all the talk of alliances and power plays, I’m beginning to think this isn’t even a proposal. This has been mostly business and barely any pleasure—not the way I like to operate.”

The darkness doesn’t let me see Gunnar’s reaction, but I can hear the smirk in his voice as he chuckles—a low, rumbling sound that resonates even in the pitch black. “Is that so? How would you have liked it?”

“Ah, Gunnar,” I say, leaning forward now, elbows on the table, feeling for the edge with my fingertips. “I thought you’d never ask.” My voice is a silky drawl, a playful tease that dances between us like the shadows we cannot see. “Not sure…just figured there’d be more wooing.”

“Alright then,” I can almost feel Gunnar’s presence across from me, a palpable energy even in the absence of light. “Tell me then—how would you want to be wooed?”

“I can think of one thing,” I venture, the words slipping from my tongue with ease, “Aisling, do you dance anymore? I missed my chance at Dreamland.”

The air thickens suddenly; I can feel the shift even though I see nothing. Aisling’s presence is like a charged storm, and her silence speaks volumes before she gives voice to the tension.

“No,” she says finally, and the single word hits like a thunderclap in the void. “Dancing as a slave…it made it lose its lustre.”

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