She takes one bite.
Kira Noir doesn’t flinch. She just reaches for the unlabeled wine and pours herself a glass — dark as motor oil, smooth as a lie you wish were true. kira noir ordering off the menu
“Yes, you do. The midnight special. The one they make for people who’ve been here before — in another life. Spiced darkness, a whisper of smoke, and an ingredient that isn’t supposed to be in the building.” She takes one bite
“I don’t eat what everyone else eats.” “Yes, you do
The waiter glances toward the back. Swallows.
“I’ll have the thing you don’t list. The one whispered about during closing shifts. The dish that requires a nod from the kitchen manager and a locked door.”
Kira pulls a thin black cigarette from nowhere — lights it even though the sign says not to. The smoke curls upward like a question no one dares ask.