The inside of L'Étoile Noire looked exactly like the kind of place Kara assumed rich people ate when they wanted to feel superior about it.
Low lighting, but intentionally low—warm amber lights tucked into black metal fixtures, casting soft shadows instead of hiding stains.
The walls were dark charcoal with thin gold accents, like someone had whispered "luxury" instead of yelling it.
A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, all glass and sharp angles, sparkling like it knew how much it cost.
Soft instrumental music floated through the air, the kind that made Kara feel like she should lower her voice even though she hadn't said anything yet.
She froze just inside the entrance.
"Oh no," she murmured.
Adam leaned closer. "What?"
"This is the kind of place where the waiter judges you if you don't pronounce things right."
He grinned. "Relax. I'll embarrass myself first so you look better by comparison."
A host in a crisp black suit approached them with a polite smile that looked professionally trained.
"Reservation name?"
"Richard," Adam said.
The host's eyes flicked to the tablet. "Ah. Yes. Right this way."
As they followed him through the restaurant, Kara tried very hard not to gawk—but failed anyway. Tables were spaced far apart like personal bubbles of wealth.
People sat quietly, speaking in low voices, dressed in clothes that probably cost more than Kara's rent. Glassware sparkled. Cutlery gleamed. And there was that dumb rich laugh every wealthy person mastered from birth.
They were seated in a corner booth—plush black leather, curved slightly inward, intimate without being suffocating. A candle sat between them, flame dancing lazily.
Kara slid into her seat and immediately whispered, "If I spill something, I am running."
Adam snorted. "Relax. Worst case scenario, we fake our deaths."
Menus were placed in front of them—thick, heavy, black with gold lettering.
Kara opened hers.
Paused.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…Why does everything have a paragraph."
Adam peeked over. "What?"
"Listen to this," she whispered aggressively. "'Pan-seared duck breast accompanied by a velvety reduction of—' NO. Just tell me if it tastes good."
Adam laughed. "You want help translating Rich People Food into Normal Human?"
"Yes. Immediately."
A waiter approached, tall and calm, like he'd never known stress.
"Good evening. May I start you with drinks?"
Adam ordered something that sounded expensive. Kara panicked.
"…Uh. Water," she said quickly. "Please."
The waiter nodded respectfully, like water was a bold and cultured choice.
When he left, Kara leaned forward. "Okay. Serious question."
"Shoot."
"Are the portions actually food-sized or is this decorative hunger."
Adam smirked. "Depends. If you order pasta, you'll be fine. If you order anything described as 'deconstructed,' you're fucked."
"Noted."
They spent the next few minutes whisper-arguing about menu items.
Adam pointed. "That one's good."
"That's lamb."
"Yeah."
"I don't trust lamb."
"Why?"
"They look like they know things."
He burst out laughing, earning a sharp glance from a nearby table.
Kara shrank slightly. "Shit. Sorry."
Adam leaned closer. "Don't worry. They're mad because they paid fifty dollars for asparagus."
When the waiter returned, Adam ordered confidently. Kara hesitated, then said, "I'll have… the pasta. The normal one. Please." She squeaked, covering half her face with the menu as she tensed.
The waiter smiled faintly. "Excellent choice."
As soon as he left, Kara exhaled like she'd been holding her breath since birth.
"Okay," she said. "I feel like I'm being evaluated."
Adam rested his chin on his hand. "You're doing great."
"Liar."
Food arrived faster than expected—and to Kara's shock, the portions were actually decent.
"Oh thank God," she whispered. "It's real food."
They ate, and slowly, the tension melted. Adam talked about football—complaining about drills, mimicking his coach's voice, dramatically reenacting a failed tackle with his fork. Kara laughed harder than she expected to, nearly choking on pasta.
She told him about the orphanage kids, about how one of them had glued googly eyes to her jacket and declared her a "wizard." Adam laughed so hard he had to put his fork down.
"You are absolutely their favorite," he said.
"They use me as a jungle gym."
"That's love."
The candle burned lower. Plates emptied. Kara leaned back slightly, relaxed, warmth buzzing in her chest—not just from the food.
She was mid-sentence, saying something sarcastic about math homework, when her gaze drifted past Adam's shoulder.
And then—
She froze.
Her spine went rigid. Her hand tightened around her glass.
Adam noticed immediately. "What?"
Kara didn't answer.
Her eyes were locked on the entrance.
Bianca had just walked in.
Perfect hair. Expensive dress. Loud laugh.
One of her friends at her side, scanning the room like they owned it.
Kara's stomach dropped.
"Oh," she murmured.
Adam followed her gaze.
"…Oh shit."