Page 49 of Sublime Target

Pink, red, blue. As if someone had painted the dark surroundings with little neon highlights.

Taking great care, Clarissa climbed down, her heels clicking loudly on the metal stairs. She gripped the handrail tightly, hyper-aware of Jerik’s presence behind her.

In spite of his size, he hardly made a sound as he descended. Every move he made was efficient and intentional. There were no wasted actions or gestures.

They reached the bottom. After all that flying and dangling in the air, Clarissa was mildly relieved to be standing on solid ground once again.

Jerik reached for her hand.

She accepted. His grip felt good. He was almost too good to be real.

She so badly wanted to trust him.

He led her around the corner onto a busy street front, where the occasional passerby hurried along the footpath, and delivery drones whizzed through the air. Cars glided past, gently disturbing shallow puddles.

Jerik was in full Kordolian mode, not bothering to hide his appearance, but nobody paid him much attention. Maybe they were neighborhood regulars, already used to the fact that Kordolians frequented this particular building.

A scent drifted to her on the cool night air—the sweet, spicy aroma of baking.

She saw the sign out front, hanging from a post, the lettering done in a quaint, old-timey style.

The Whisk and Pin.

Warm light spilled from the windows.

The whole place looked ridiculously inviting in an old-fashioned way. It had a vibe that was seldom found in this day and age.

Jerik pushed open the big French doors and brought her inside.

Instantly, she was charmed. The restaurant was furnished with characterful wooden tables and vintage chairs that reminded her of cafes in Paris. The photographs on the wall depicted scenic places all around the world. Their imperfections—slightly off-kilter angles, light artifacts—made them feel honest and authentic.

Lush, well-cared-for plants further enhanced the space.

What the hell?

How had the Kordolians conquered a space that was so damn homely?

Her gaze was drawn to a table in the center of the room. This one was covered in a pristine white tablecloth.

There were candles. Crystal-clear long-stemmed glasses. Elegant green-white tulips in a vase.

Except for the two of them, the place was empty.

Unable to conceal her surprise, she turned to Jerik. “You planned this. How?”

You didn’t know me from a bar of soap. We only just met.

A feeling of suspicion rose inside her, and she didn’t like it. She so wanted all of this to be perfect, like a scene from some dreamy fantasy novel.

She needed that in her life right now.

“All it took was a simple communication,” he answered. “The people here know what they’re doing.”

He gestured toward the table and pulled one of the chairs back for her. “Please. Allow me.”

Clarissa smiled. “You’re making this too easy. I’ll allow it.”

She sat down.

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