The restaurant Raymond chose to meet with Helena wasn't crowded, not at this hour of the evening.
The dim lights pooled in golden rings across the polished wood of the tables, and the low hum of background music provided just enough privacy for two people intent on speaking in hushed tones.
Raymond sat with his back to the wall, his drink untouched in front of him, his gaze fixed on the entrance. His leg bounced beneath the table, a physical betrayal of the energy crackling inside him as he waited patiently for Helena.
Helena arrived ten minutes late, striding through the door with all the force of a storm. Her heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor, her hair glossy and tumbling around her shoulders, but her face—her face was all fire. She spotted him almost immediately and walked over.
"You," she hissed as soon as she slid into the seat opposite him, not bothering with pleasantries. "Why would you send me there? Do you have any idea what I saw?" she asked irritably.
