Later, on the weekend, lunch at the Midwinter’s Dream…

It was that fancy café that Ari had been gushing about, left unvisited that fateful day after those bloody affairs behind that early afternoon window.

Isha sat upon a high-top seat by the counter with her Aunt Elena, watching the steak that was being prepared for her by a chef completely focused upon his work. Beautifully marbled and cut into the shape of large and thick square, and garnished with sliced garlic and olive oil and various eastern spices from the dragon-held lands of the Cathanian Imperium, it sizzled beautifully upon the heated steel of a hot plate grill, so close to completion.

In light of Ari’s enthusiasm for this place, it was everything and more to want. The sight of fellow diners, the aroma of grilled steak and sizzling olives, and the lilting melody of a pianist plying his craft in the background of it all, made her want to feel that way. And yet, she found herself thinking of other things, of Lana and Erin, and of Lady Priscilla. And perhaps, more unsettlingly so, that rush of power that she felt when she held the latter’s life within her grasp.

It would have been so simple, so easy. Her neck and spine, snappable like brittle twigs. And then the villainess would have been dead, just like that. Easily. And yet…

“Damn, so you were that close, eh?” Elena remarked out loud, casually sipping upon a glass of ice-cold beer. “Should’ve iced the bitch.”

“I wanted to, back there…” Isha answered with a frown, her gaze still fixated upon the sizzling steak. “Maybe I ought to, but then…”

“For real, though? I’m glad ya didn’t.”

Isha turned to look at her Aunt.

“Why?”

“It’s a dark path to go down on,” Elena answered grimly, as she placed her glass upon the counter. “Sure, the first time’s a little hard. But then after that… it gets a whole lot easier.”

“Is that a bad thing, Aunty?”

Elena nodded, much to Isha’s dismay.

“I know, I know! I’m not exactly the most qualified person out there to be preaching the virtues of restraint,” Elena declared, as she flashed a smile at Isha. “But then…”

There was a moment of silence ensued after that, as Elena and Isha watched the chef cut the steak into smaller squares, sizzling each side of each one of them lightly and briefly upon the stove. Heavy with the aroma of olives and garlic and pepper, and plated with those garlic slices that had sizzled alongside it, the steak was almost ready.

“It’s a little too late for a lot of us…” Elena mused out loud as she reached for her beer once again, her crimson eyes gazing thoughtfully into its golden hue. “But I hope, sincerely, that you and Claire will never need to get your hands dirty. Elicia willing.”