The owner of the small diner, a round-faced woman with streaks of gray in her hair, froze when her eyes landed on Rion.
"It's you, Alpha!" she gasped, hands trembling before she quickly bowed so low her apron nearly brushed the floor. "It is an honor to have you here in our humble place. Is there anything you need from us?"
I could tell from her reaction that this wasn't normal. Rion wasn't the type to stroll into corner diners in the farthest districts. He was always busy, always tied down with council meetings, training sessions, or handling threats from aboveground.
And if he ever did eat outside, there were hundreds of better-known restaurants he could have gone to, and closer to the Central district.
So of course, the woman's first assumption wasn't that he'd come here for food. No, she probably thought he was here for business—inspections, orders, some kind of trouble.
"We want to eat," Rion said casually.
