Bound by Blood and Stolen Time

Rosmira steps out of Brittany Star’s office and the restaurant hush falls around her booth like a dropped curtain. At the table ahead, Leon sits rigid beside Jews, both of them trying not to look like they notice the watchers.

Across the room, three patrons angle their glasses and menus with too much patience. One of them subtly nods toward Leon, then toward the corridor. The network has found the trail, and it is closing in.

Leon slides a hand under the table, not reaching for escape, but for Rosmira’s attention. Jews straightens, hiding her own nerves behind a bright, careful smile.

The nearest watcher lifts a fork and pauses, listening. Rosmira has one clear opening, join the booth, play the part, and decide how much of their bond to expose before the net tightens.

Rosmira turns back to the dining room with a calm little smile, the kind that keeps a room from asking questions. She angles her body between the corridor and the booth, offering Brittany the look of someone already handling the problem.

Brittany's amused gaze flicks once toward Leon and Jews, then back to Rosmira, as if approving the performance before it even finishes.

Rosmira glides past the table, envelope in hand, and the booth's tension loosens by a breath. Leon's hand eases back under the table instead of reaching, while Jews keeps her bright smile in place for the watchers.

The nearest watcher lowers their fork and looks away first, losing the thread as Rosmira heads for the corridor. The sealed complaint is clear in her hand, and the route to Brittany's office is open.

Rosmira leaves Stars Restaurant behind and arrives at Rival Restaurant.

Rival Restaurant greets Rosmira with bright, blunt light and a quieter kind of pressure than Stars. The lobby is neat enough to feel watched, and the sealed complaint stays warm in her hand as she crosses straight past the host stand.

A wall menu reflects her in thin slices, then the reflection breaks as a young server spots the envelope and stiffens. He does not stop her, only angles his body toward a side corridor, as if the answer is already waiting there.

Rosmira keeps moving, smooth and fast, and the small advantage of her stride pays off. The server relents and points her toward a private office marked for management, while the front of house quietly turns its attention elsewhere.

That name lands with a little weight. Jack waits behind the office door, and the corridor is open at last, but the restaurant's hush makes clear that whatever Brittany asked for is not a casual favor.

Rosmira slips through the office door without slowing, and the envelope meets Jack's desk before he can finish straightening a stack of receipts.

Jack breaks the seal with two careful fingers, scans the complaint, and his wary look turns sharp with recognition.

He slides a copy stamp and a receipt pad toward Rosmira, his posture easing as if she has just become a useful problem instead of a suspicious one.

From the hallway, a muffled shuffle stalls near the door, and Jack lowers his voice, eyes flicking past Rosmira toward the corridor.