Nyx
Nyx chose the table because the chair was high enough.
The view was less important.
So was the little strip of tournament cloth tied around the railing. Someone had already spilled sauce on it.
She moved her seat away from the damp patch and checked the time.
The meal was hers to arrange.
She had told Liora the day before, while they were waiting for the equipment desk to reopen.
Eighteen tomorrow. Food after the morning work, if you want to come.
Liora had asked where.
Cedric had asked when.
Neither had asked why she hadn't said so sooner.
That was a promising start.
The small eating terrace stood beyond the busiest tournament path. People still passed below, but few climbed the narrow stairs unless they intended to sit down.
Nyx ordered tea and waited.
Her knee tolerated the chair. The healing side no longer objected to every small turn. She had still chosen the place with enough room to move without catching someone else's bag.
