5th of Ash, 124
The crisp morning air wrapped itself around Leon as he took another drag from his cigarette, leaning back into the familiar chill of Southside. The mist clung to the cobblestone streets, curling around the wheels of the occasional passing carriage. Smoke coiled upward from his lips, dissolving into the gray sky.
“Hey mister, got a light?” The sudden voice made his heart skipped a beat. His instincts honed telling him to reach for his gun. But he forced himself to relax when he saw her, a young woman, no older than mid-twenties, with wild dark hair and eyes that hid more than they revealed. Her voice was playful, but her gaze was sharp, wary.
Leon studied her, taking in the leather jacket and the way she stood, just a bit too casual. A survivor, he thought. The kind of person who knew how to read a room, who always kept a knife hidden somewhere. He handed her his lighter, the metal worn and scratched but reliable.
“Thanks,” she said, lighting her cigarette. Her hands were steady, but there was something about her that didn’t belong here. Leon’s mind spun through possibilities. Troublemaker, smuggler, runner. People who walked Southside’s streets at this hour usually had a reason.
“What?” She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Got something on my face?”
Leon shook his head. “Just wondering if you live around here. You don’t seem the type.”
She took a long drag, blowing the smoke in his direction, her eyes glinting with a challenge. “Maybe. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On why you’re asking.” Her lips curled into a teasing grin, but her tone had an edge.
Leon matched her smile, letting a chuckle escape. “Curiosity, I guess. But, as you said, curiosity killed the cat.”
She laughed, a genuine sound, and leaned closer. “Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine yourself, old man.” She bumped her shoulder against his, a gesture caught somewhere between mockery and camaraderie.
Leon let the silence fall between them, the two sharing the quiet solitude of the early morning, the way strangers sometimes do when words aren’t necessary. Eventually, she flicked the last of her cigarette to the ground, crushing it with her boot.
“See ya around,” she said, giving him a playful pinch on his arm before slipping away, disappearing down the street like a ghost.
Leon watched her go, before reaching for another cigarette from his pocket, a poker chip fell out into the ground. Picking it up, he examined it, feeling the cold weight of the metal in his palm. Memories of the past flooded back. Markus’s system of delivering work orders using runners and the endless codes behind every playing card and small trinkets. The good times, bad times, and the adrenaline of survival. He smiled bitterly. Guthenberg’s simplified methods seemed almost too easy by comparison. But then again, a simpler system didn’t mean simpler work and he was right, there’s something about that young girl. She was a runner after all.
Hailing a carriage, Leon headed for that unassuming cafe in Trashtown. Leon pushed the door open, the thick aroma of freshly ground coffee assaulted. Herr Guthenberg was in his usual spot, dressed in a threadbare coat that somehow made him look more dignified than shabby. A cup of coffee sat steaming in front of him, and he looked up from the Daily Imperial with a smirk.
“I didn’t know they printed the next issue so early,” Leon said, settling into the chair across from him.
Guthenberg folded the newspaper, chuckling. “I still have my ways of getting things. Old connections die hard.”
Leon pulled out a cigarette and spun it between his fingers. “Right. So, what’s with the early meeting?”
Guthenberg leaned forward. “The Borisovich family,” he said, his voice lowering, “the ones who produce that famous black apple wine. Not the crime family, but the winemakers.”
Leon tilted his head, thinking. “I know their product, but not the family. But how do they fit in?”
“They’re new in the capital, just like our charming café owner over there.” Guthenberg motioned to the red-haired woman at the counter, who was carefully grinding coffee beans. The girl’s hands moved with practiced precision, but Leon noticed the way her eyes flicked over the café, ever alert.
Leon took a drag from his cigarette, savoring the burn. “Alright. What’s our way in?”
“Their daughter. She’s their heir, and she frequents a coffee shop not too far from Reiger’s. Travels with four bodyguards, keeps a tight circle, but she’s friendly with the staff and knows the regulars.”
Leon exhaled, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air. “Anyone else got their sights on her?”
“Alice.”
Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “Which Alice?”
“That Alice. Alice Frane.”
“Shit, it’s not gonna be an easy one if Miss Frane really got her eyes on the girl. Leon stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “I’ll drop by Reiger’s and send your regards.”
He turned, the café’s door creaking as he pushed it open. He made his way across the bridge before flagging down a carriage. Making his way to Wintergarten Circle.
When Leon arrived at Reiger’s, the back entrance was a hive of activity. A supply truck had just pulled up, and crates of fresh produce and bags of grain were being unloaded by kitchen hands moving with mechanical precision. Leon slipped into the mix, his presence going unnoticed at first, just another figure in a city that was always bustling.
He approached a young kitchen hand lugging a sack of potatoes, speaking in broken Kathalan. “Hey, sous chef in?”
The boy's eyes widened, and he nodded hurriedly. “Yes, yes, sous chef in. Um, want meet?”
Leon gave him a knowing nod. “Yes, tell him Herr Guthenberg is here.”
The kitchen hand vanished through the doors, and a moment later, Leon saw him reappear, pointing in his direction. Following close behind was Alexei, the sous chef. His scowl was enough to curdle milk, his chef’s whites stained from a morning of hard work.
Alexei’s eyes narrowed when he saw Leon. “You’re not Guthenberg,” he spat. “What the fuck does he want?”
Leon remained calm, slipping a poker chip from his pocket and holding it out between two fingers. “A bottle of '74 for a favor,” he said evenly, the chip catching a glint of morning light.
Alexei’s eyes flicked to the chip, then back to Leon. His face twisted with annoyance. “You want a bottle of '74 for a favor? Fuck off,” he grumbled, turning to leave.
“Katya.”
The sous chef halted in mid-step. He turned back slowly, suspicion and something else, pain flashing in his eyes. “Who?” he asked, though he knew exactly who Leon meant.
“You heard me, Alexei” Leon replied, his gaze steady.
Alexei’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as he muttered something under his breath. Without another word, he stomped back inside the building, leaving Leon alone once more. The kitchen bustle resumed, but the clattering crates and hurried footsteps seemed distant, dulled by Leon’s own thoughts. He reached for his cigarette case, sliding one out and lighting it, the familiar burn easing some of the tension.
Leon drew the smoke deep into his lungs, exhaling slowly. The memory of Katya drifted into his mind, unbidden but relentless. You should’ve just told her how sorry you were, he thought bitterly. When she really needed her brother, you were here, chasing after someone else’s dreams.
Halfway through the cigarette, Alexei returned, carrying a wooden box cradled in his arms. His expression was stony as he thrust it at Leon. “Here.”
Leon took the box, feeling the weight of the glass bottle inside. A bottle of '74, rare and costly. He tucked it under his arm and nodded, offering a thin smile. “Alright. See you around. Just be sure you’re around this time, unlike last time.”
The jab landed hard. Leon could see it in Alexei’s eyes. But he said nothing, only turning back toward the chaos of the kitchen. Leon watched him for a moment before walking away, the wine cradled safely against his side.
Leon made his way down the street, the chilled air biting at his cheeks and the distant hum of the waking city a dull background to his focused thoughts. Approaching the coffee shop, he slowed his pace, taking a moment to survey the inside through the glass windows. He scanned the room, eyes taking in every face, every table, and every door, making mental notes before pushing his way inside.
The warmth of the coffee shop enveloped him immediately, the smell of roasted beans and the faintest hint of cinnamon and apple cutting through the morning cold. The barista greeted him with an infectious cheer. “Hello! What would you like to order?”
Leon’s gaze drifted to the chalkboard menu hanging above the counter. His lips curled into a smile as he found what he was looking for. “Give me the barista’s recommendation.”
“How experimental are you?” the barista asked with a knowing grin.
Leon chuckled. “Surprise me.”
“Alright, coming right up. Anything else?”
He glanced at a section of the menu that promised an extravagant breakfast platter. “Yeah, I’ll get the breakfast platter, too.” Leon handed over some coins, then reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, gesturing with a silent question.
The barista understood immediately. “You can head out the side entrance,” she said, passing him a key. “Just leave it in the door when you come back.”
Leon nodded and made his way to a table near the side door, setting down his coat and the wooden box carrying the precious bottle of '74. The barista glanced at the box curiously but said nothing as Leon slipped outside.
Lighting his cigarette, Leon took a long drag, savoring the moment. The morning air was crisp, almost painfully so, and his breath mingled with the smoke in wisps that curled and danced into the sky. He was halfway through his second cigarette when the side door creaked open, and four men stepped out. They each pulled out packs of their own, glancing at Leon.
“Hey man, got a light?” one of them asked.
Leon reached into his pocket and handed over his lighter, nodding as it was passed around. The men lit their cigarettes, chatting amongst themselves. “Thanks. Nice tattoos, by the way,” the first man said, eyeing the ink peeking out from under Leon’s shirt.
“Thanks,” Leon replied, then took a drag of his third cigarette, standing in the shared silence. The men’s conversation drifted into the cold morning air, and Leon could feel the unspoken tension, the weight of their presence. Finishing his cigarette, he stubbed it out and stepped back inside.
He immediately noticed a young woman sitting on the sofa opposite where he had left his things. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore an oversized scarf that looked almost comically warm. As he returned, the barista approached with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate piled high with breakfast. “Here’s your coffee and meal,” she announced, setting them down.
“Thanks,” Leon said, then turned his attention to the girl, offering a smile. “Hey, I’m Leon. Sorry, is this your spot? I can move if you’d like.”
She looked up, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “No, it’s okay. My name’s not written on the chair and table.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “First time here?”
Leon nodded. “Yeah, just finished my last day on the job. Decided to celebrate unemployment with a bottle of wine, some good food, and a strong coffee before heading home.” He paused, realizing how bleak it sounded. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Stephanie interrupted, placing a warm hand on his. “No, no, no. That’s okay.” Her voice was soft, understanding. “You’ll get through this. Anyway, being stuck in a job you don’t like is like being imprisoned.”
Leon’s expression darkened momentarily. “Still better than being stuck in a life you don’t like,” he muttered.
Her smile faltered, just for a second, and Leon winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Stephanie brushed it off, her smile returning, though her eyes seemed deeper now. “No, it’s alright. Sometimes life gives you a wake-up call in ways you couldn’t imagine.”
Before they could continue, one of the men from outside re-entered, his gaze darting to Leon and then to Stephanie. He had a questioning look, his body tensing slightly.
“Dave, this is Leon. It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” Stephanie reassured him.
Dave hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be right outside,” he replied, grabbing a cup of coffee and stepping back outside.
Leon raised an eyebrow, leaning in conspiratorially. “Wait, are you someone famous or something?” he whispered.
Stephanie laughed, the sound light and musical. “No, no, no. It’s just my overprotective father. He’s a little… paranoid.”
Leon grinned. “I see. Same thing with my parents. Always keeping secrets, always saying it’s for my own good, for my own safety.”
Stephanie’s smile grew a touch sad. “Parents are protective, I guess. Some just take it too far.”
Leon’s gaze dropped to the tiny stud in her nose. “Speaking of protective, what did your father think about the piercing?”
Stephanie burst into laughter. “Oh, its as you can imagine ‘Stephanie, a girl should act ladylike! What’s the use of that? Is it some kind of statement? I raised you better!’” she imitated, rolling her eyes dramatically.
Leon joined her laughter. “I can only imagine his reaction if he saw my tattoos.”
She leaned forward, pretending to scold. “Oh, young man, what a disgrace! Paintings on paper are worth more and could be sold for profit. Why would you waste money to paint your body like those foreigners?”
Their shared laughter filled the space between them, a moment of lightness. Stephanie’s eyes fell to the wooden box on the table, curiosity lighting her features. “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of wine is that?”
Leon glanced at the box, playing it cool. “This?” He opened the container, revealing the bottle inside.
Stephanie let out a surprised gasp, quickly reaching over to close the box again. Her voice was hushed. “That’s a ’74. Do you know how hard it is to get one? Even the alchemically aged ones don’t compare.”
Leon shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “I guess they still need more experimenting.”
She looked thoughtful, gears visibly turning in her mind. Then she bit her lip, hesitating. “This might be a selfish request, but would you be willing to share a glass of that with me? I’d make it worth your while.”
Leon put on a serious face. “As long as we’re not sharing it with your overprotective father.”
Stephanie faltered. “Um… Well…”
Leon burst out laughing, raising his cup of coffee in a mock toast. “I’m joking. Of course, we can share it with your overprotective father. A bottle of wine is best enjoyed with friends, old and new.”
The crisp morning air wrapped itself around Leon as he took another drag from his cigarette, leaning back into the familiar chill of Southside. The mist clung to the cobblestone streets, curling around the wheels of the occasional passing carriage. Smoke coiled upward from his lips, dissolving into the gray sky.
“Hey mister, got a light?” The sudden voice made his heart skipped a beat. His instincts honed telling him to reach for his gun. But he forced himself to relax when he saw her, a young woman, no older than mid-twenties, with wild dark hair and eyes that hid more than they revealed. Her voice was playful, but her gaze was sharp, wary.
Leon studied her, taking in the leather jacket and the way she stood, just a bit too casual. A survivor, he thought. The kind of person who knew how to read a room, who always kept a knife hidden somewhere. He handed her his lighter, the metal worn and scratched but reliable.
“Thanks,” she said, lighting her cigarette. Her hands were steady, but there was something about her that didn’t belong here. Leon’s mind spun through possibilities. Troublemaker, smuggler, runner. People who walked Southside’s streets at this hour usually had a reason.
“What?” She caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Got something on my face?”
Leon shook his head. “Just wondering if you live around here. You don’t seem the type.”
She took a long drag, blowing the smoke in his direction, her eyes glinting with a challenge. “Maybe. It depends.”
“On what?”
“On why you’re asking.” Her lips curled into a teasing grin, but her tone had an edge.
Leon matched her smile, letting a chuckle escape. “Curiosity, I guess. But, as you said, curiosity killed the cat.”
She laughed, a genuine sound, and leaned closer. “Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine yourself, old man.” She bumped her shoulder against his, a gesture caught somewhere between mockery and camaraderie.
Leon let the silence fall between them, the two sharing the quiet solitude of the early morning, the way strangers sometimes do when words aren’t necessary. Eventually, she flicked the last of her cigarette to the ground, crushing it with her boot.
“See ya around,” she said, giving him a playful pinch on his arm before slipping away, disappearing down the street like a ghost.
Leon watched her go, before reaching for another cigarette from his pocket, a poker chip fell out into the ground. Picking it up, he examined it, feeling the cold weight of the metal in his palm. Memories of the past flooded back. Markus’s system of delivering work orders using runners and the endless codes behind every playing card and small trinkets. The good times, bad times, and the adrenaline of survival. He smiled bitterly. Guthenberg’s simplified methods seemed almost too easy by comparison. But then again, a simpler system didn’t mean simpler work and he was right, there’s something about that young girl. She was a runner after all.
Hailing a carriage, Leon headed for that unassuming cafe in Trashtown. Leon pushed the door open, the thick aroma of freshly ground coffee assaulted. Herr Guthenberg was in his usual spot, dressed in a threadbare coat that somehow made him look more dignified than shabby. A cup of coffee sat steaming in front of him, and he looked up from the Daily Imperial with a smirk.
“I didn’t know they printed the next issue so early,” Leon said, settling into the chair across from him.
Guthenberg folded the newspaper, chuckling. “I still have my ways of getting things. Old connections die hard.”
Leon pulled out a cigarette and spun it between his fingers. “Right. So, what’s with the early meeting?”
Guthenberg leaned forward. “The Borisovich family,” he said, his voice lowering, “the ones who produce that famous black apple wine. Not the crime family, but the winemakers.”
Leon tilted his head, thinking. “I know their product, but not the family. But how do they fit in?”
“They’re new in the capital, just like our charming café owner over there.” Guthenberg motioned to the red-haired woman at the counter, who was carefully grinding coffee beans. The girl’s hands moved with practiced precision, but Leon noticed the way her eyes flicked over the café, ever alert.
Leon took a drag from his cigarette, savoring the burn. “Alright. What’s our way in?”
“Their daughter. She’s their heir, and she frequents a coffee shop not too far from Reiger’s. Travels with four bodyguards, keeps a tight circle, but she’s friendly with the staff and knows the regulars.”
Leon exhaled, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air. “Anyone else got their sights on her?”
“Alice.”
Leon’s eyebrows shot up. “Which Alice?”
“That Alice. Alice Frane.”
“Shit, it’s not gonna be an easy one if Miss Frane really got her eyes on the girl. Leon stubbed out his cigarette and stood. “I’ll drop by Reiger’s and send your regards.”
He turned, the café’s door creaking as he pushed it open. He made his way across the bridge before flagging down a carriage. Making his way to Wintergarten Circle.
When Leon arrived at Reiger’s, the back entrance was a hive of activity. A supply truck had just pulled up, and crates of fresh produce and bags of grain were being unloaded by kitchen hands moving with mechanical precision. Leon slipped into the mix, his presence going unnoticed at first, just another figure in a city that was always bustling.
He approached a young kitchen hand lugging a sack of potatoes, speaking in broken Kathalan. “Hey, sous chef in?”
The boy's eyes widened, and he nodded hurriedly. “Yes, yes, sous chef in. Um, want meet?”
Leon gave him a knowing nod. “Yes, tell him Herr Guthenberg is here.”
The kitchen hand vanished through the doors, and a moment later, Leon saw him reappear, pointing in his direction. Following close behind was Alexei, the sous chef. His scowl was enough to curdle milk, his chef’s whites stained from a morning of hard work.
Alexei’s eyes narrowed when he saw Leon. “You’re not Guthenberg,” he spat. “What the fuck does he want?”
Leon remained calm, slipping a poker chip from his pocket and holding it out between two fingers. “A bottle of '74 for a favor,” he said evenly, the chip catching a glint of morning light.
Alexei’s eyes flicked to the chip, then back to Leon. His face twisted with annoyance. “You want a bottle of '74 for a favor? Fuck off,” he grumbled, turning to leave.
“Katya.”
The sous chef halted in mid-step. He turned back slowly, suspicion and something else, pain flashing in his eyes. “Who?” he asked, though he knew exactly who Leon meant.
“You heard me, Alexei” Leon replied, his gaze steady.
Alexei’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his face tightening as he muttered something under his breath. Without another word, he stomped back inside the building, leaving Leon alone once more. The kitchen bustle resumed, but the clattering crates and hurried footsteps seemed distant, dulled by Leon’s own thoughts. He reached for his cigarette case, sliding one out and lighting it, the familiar burn easing some of the tension.
Leon drew the smoke deep into his lungs, exhaling slowly. The memory of Katya drifted into his mind, unbidden but relentless. You should’ve just told her how sorry you were, he thought bitterly. When she really needed her brother, you were here, chasing after someone else’s dreams.
Halfway through the cigarette, Alexei returned, carrying a wooden box cradled in his arms. His expression was stony as he thrust it at Leon. “Here.”
Leon took the box, feeling the weight of the glass bottle inside. A bottle of '74, rare and costly. He tucked it under his arm and nodded, offering a thin smile. “Alright. See you around. Just be sure you’re around this time, unlike last time.”
The jab landed hard. Leon could see it in Alexei’s eyes. But he said nothing, only turning back toward the chaos of the kitchen. Leon watched him for a moment before walking away, the wine cradled safely against his side.
Leon made his way down the street, the chilled air biting at his cheeks and the distant hum of the waking city a dull background to his focused thoughts. Approaching the coffee shop, he slowed his pace, taking a moment to survey the inside through the glass windows. He scanned the room, eyes taking in every face, every table, and every door, making mental notes before pushing his way inside.
The warmth of the coffee shop enveloped him immediately, the smell of roasted beans and the faintest hint of cinnamon and apple cutting through the morning cold. The barista greeted him with an infectious cheer. “Hello! What would you like to order?”
Leon’s gaze drifted to the chalkboard menu hanging above the counter. His lips curled into a smile as he found what he was looking for. “Give me the barista’s recommendation.”
“How experimental are you?” the barista asked with a knowing grin.
Leon chuckled. “Surprise me.”
“Alright, coming right up. Anything else?”
He glanced at a section of the menu that promised an extravagant breakfast platter. “Yeah, I’ll get the breakfast platter, too.” Leon handed over some coins, then reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, gesturing with a silent question.
The barista understood immediately. “You can head out the side entrance,” she said, passing him a key. “Just leave it in the door when you come back.”
Leon nodded and made his way to a table near the side door, setting down his coat and the wooden box carrying the precious bottle of '74. The barista glanced at the box curiously but said nothing as Leon slipped outside.
Lighting his cigarette, Leon took a long drag, savoring the moment. The morning air was crisp, almost painfully so, and his breath mingled with the smoke in wisps that curled and danced into the sky. He was halfway through his second cigarette when the side door creaked open, and four men stepped out. They each pulled out packs of their own, glancing at Leon.
“Hey man, got a light?” one of them asked.
Leon reached into his pocket and handed over his lighter, nodding as it was passed around. The men lit their cigarettes, chatting amongst themselves. “Thanks. Nice tattoos, by the way,” the first man said, eyeing the ink peeking out from under Leon’s shirt.
“Thanks,” Leon replied, then took a drag of his third cigarette, standing in the shared silence. The men’s conversation drifted into the cold morning air, and Leon could feel the unspoken tension, the weight of their presence. Finishing his cigarette, he stubbed it out and stepped back inside.
He immediately noticed a young woman sitting on the sofa opposite where he had left his things. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore an oversized scarf that looked almost comically warm. As he returned, the barista approached with a steaming cup of coffee and a plate piled high with breakfast. “Here’s your coffee and meal,” she announced, setting them down.
“Thanks,” Leon said, then turned his attention to the girl, offering a smile. “Hey, I’m Leon. Sorry, is this your spot? I can move if you’d like.”
She looked up, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “No, it’s okay. My name’s not written on the chair and table.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “First time here?”
Leon nodded. “Yeah, just finished my last day on the job. Decided to celebrate unemployment with a bottle of wine, some good food, and a strong coffee before heading home.” He paused, realizing how bleak it sounded. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Stephanie interrupted, placing a warm hand on his. “No, no, no. That’s okay.” Her voice was soft, understanding. “You’ll get through this. Anyway, being stuck in a job you don’t like is like being imprisoned.”
Leon’s expression darkened momentarily. “Still better than being stuck in a life you don’t like,” he muttered.
Her smile faltered, just for a second, and Leon winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Stephanie brushed it off, her smile returning, though her eyes seemed deeper now. “No, it’s alright. Sometimes life gives you a wake-up call in ways you couldn’t imagine.”
Before they could continue, one of the men from outside re-entered, his gaze darting to Leon and then to Stephanie. He had a questioning look, his body tensing slightly.
“Dave, this is Leon. It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” Stephanie reassured him.
Dave hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll be right outside,” he replied, grabbing a cup of coffee and stepping back outside.
Leon raised an eyebrow, leaning in conspiratorially. “Wait, are you someone famous or something?” he whispered.
Stephanie laughed, the sound light and musical. “No, no, no. It’s just my overprotective father. He’s a little… paranoid.”
Leon grinned. “I see. Same thing with my parents. Always keeping secrets, always saying it’s for my own good, for my own safety.”
Stephanie’s smile grew a touch sad. “Parents are protective, I guess. Some just take it too far.”
Leon’s gaze dropped to the tiny stud in her nose. “Speaking of protective, what did your father think about the piercing?”
Stephanie burst into laughter. “Oh, its as you can imagine ‘Stephanie, a girl should act ladylike! What’s the use of that? Is it some kind of statement? I raised you better!’” she imitated, rolling her eyes dramatically.
Leon joined her laughter. “I can only imagine his reaction if he saw my tattoos.”
She leaned forward, pretending to scold. “Oh, young man, what a disgrace! Paintings on paper are worth more and could be sold for profit. Why would you waste money to paint your body like those foreigners?”
Their shared laughter filled the space between them, a moment of lightness. Stephanie’s eyes fell to the wooden box on the table, curiosity lighting her features. “If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of wine is that?”
Leon glanced at the box, playing it cool. “This?” He opened the container, revealing the bottle inside.
Stephanie let out a surprised gasp, quickly reaching over to close the box again. Her voice was hushed. “That’s a ’74. Do you know how hard it is to get one? Even the alchemically aged ones don’t compare.”
Leon shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. “I guess they still need more experimenting.”
She looked thoughtful, gears visibly turning in her mind. Then she bit her lip, hesitating. “This might be a selfish request, but would you be willing to share a glass of that with me? I’d make it worth your while.”
Leon put on a serious face. “As long as we’re not sharing it with your overprotective father.”
Stephanie faltered. “Um… Well…”
Leon burst out laughing, raising his cup of coffee in a mock toast. “I’m joking. Of course, we can share it with your overprotective father. A bottle of wine is best enjoyed with friends, old and new.”