26: Deva
Deva
Deva followed Wrench into the restaurant—not a simple eatery, not some quick-dispense job, but a proper sit-down place, where they prepared the food from scratch, cooked it old-style.
“Why here?” she asked.
Wrench shrugged. “Chiron said he didn’t want to meet in the base. Wanted somewhere neutral.”
“But this place? Isn’t it a bit fancy?”
“Said the people that run it are friendly.”
“Friendly?”
“Yeah. Friendly to the cause.”
Deva nodded. So this place was connected to the Heralds.
The lighting was dim, smothering the tables in shadows—or maybe that was the dividers, with their shifting patterns. Music played, on the edge of hearing, something unobtrusive, accompanied by what sounded like birdsong.
A server came over, in a flowing black dress, her hair piled up on
