Chapter 178: Thorne Visits Again
The second "Golden Fry" day landed on a bright, breezy morning that smelled like rain long before any cloud bothered to show. Mcronald’s had its shutters up early, flour bowls set, oil gently warming, buns stacked in tidy pyramids, and the chalkboard outside redone in Lyra’s neat hand:
TODAY ONLY — GOLDEN FRY SPECIAL
Crispy. Juicy. Gone when it’s gone.
Riko rehearsed his greeting behind the counter like a swordsman running forms. "Welcome to Mcronald’s! Burgers? Fries? Or the special?" Maddy rolled her eyes fondly and checked the chicken sacks a third time, tapping them like a drummer to feel the cold through the paper. Inigo adjusted the fryer flame and watched for that shimmer he’d learned to trust more than any thermometer in this world.
Lyra leaned her elbows on the pass, chin in one hand, watching foot traffic gather on the plaza. "We’ll sell out in an hour," she said.
"That’s the point," Inigo answered without looking, and smiled when she sighed in that way that meant she secretly enjoyed being right about the chaos to come.
The door latch thunked, and the first rush washed in—early workers with dust on their sleeves, two academy students arguing about enchantment theory, a guardsman who’d "just stop in for tea" and immediately betrayed himself to a double burger. Orders flew; the fryer sang. Inigo fell into rhythm—coat, dip, coat again, lower; lift the basket when the sound went from frantic fizz to a confident crackle. Maddy plated, Riko called numbers, Lyra moved where the line needed strength—one moment coating chicken, the next salting fries with that magician’s flourish of hers that made kids stare.
The bell over the door chimed again.
Conversation softened by a degree, like a room inhaling. Lyra didn’t even glance up; she knew that particular hush. Inigo felt it too—a shift in attention, the way crowds unconsciously accorded space to the weight of certain people.
Guildmaster Thorne stepped inside.
He wore no insignia today, but authority clung to him like a second cloak. He took in the space—chalkboard, busy hands, the small miracles of organized heat and hunger—and then found Inigo behind the pass. There was the smallest curl to the Guildmaster’s mouth; for Thorne, that was practically a grin.
"Inigo," he rumbled.