Chapter 179: Heading to New Mission
The smell of garlic fried rice drifted through the apartment before the first bell rang across Elandra. Inigo had been up since dawn, rice drained and drying in a shallow bowl, garlic sweating gently in oil until the edges just blushed. He tipped the grains into the pan and worked them with a wooden spatula, scattering the rice so each grain caught the heat, the hiss and pop as familiar as the fryer at Mcronald’s. Comforting. Grounding.
Steam curled from the kettle. Two chipped cups waited—tea for Lyra, bitter coffee for him, dark as the cast‑iron pan. He cracked two eggs with one hand, let them frill at the edges, then slid them over the rice and folded the yolks in, streaks of gold marbling the white. A handful of chopped scallions, a clatter of plates, and the most important pre‑mission ritual in two worlds was almost complete.
Lyra emerged from the washroom braided and battle‑ready: light leather vest, sleeves rolled, bow already strung, quiver worn loose enough to run, tight enough to keep fletching from snagging doorframes. She took in the table and smirked. "You’re spoiling me."
"You eat like a bird if I don’t," Inigo said, setting a plate in front of her. "And Thorne’s not getting me before I’ve had my silog."
"It’s not a real mission until we’re fed," she conceded, dropping into her chair.
"It’s not a real day until we’re fed," he countered, and they both let that be the law of the kitchen.
They ate unhurried, the city stirring beyond the shutters—vendors calling in the plaza, wagon wheels starting their daylong groan over cobbles, gulls heckling each other from the river quarter. The first bell belonged to people like them, the ones who preferred to move before the streets clogged and the world remembered its to‑do list.
When the plates were clean, Inigo set the sealed envelope on the table between them. The wax caught a sliver of morning light.
"You ready?" he asked.
Lyra traced the edge of the seal with a thumb. "You’re the one who wanted to wait."
"Waiting makes the food taste better," he said. "Now... go ahead."
The seal cracked softly. Lyra unfolded the letter and skimmed. "North gate, an hour after the second bell. Travel papers to Cindralock Outpost." She kept reading, eyes narrowing a hair. "Urgent escort. Alchemists’ branch."