CHAPTER 103: CHAPTER 103: CORRUPTION AND DATE (1)

The ride didn’t last long.

By the time the city thinned into the older, quieter quarter, the car was already gliding into a narrow, cobblestoned lane where streetlamps burned low and gold against dark stone façades. The restaurant didn’t have any mark to suggest its name. You would know it if you were the right person. The black-lacquered double doors were flanked by two uniformed staff who straightened the instant the car stopped, their posture shifting into the crisp, attentive readiness that came from knowing exactly who had arrived.

The door on Elias’s side opened before he could reach for the handle. The night air was cool, scented faintly with the herbs and woodsmoke drifting from somewhere inside. Victor stepped out first, his height and the cut of his suit making the space around him contract, then turned to offer Elias his hand, not because Elias needed help, but because Victor wanted it that way.

They didn’t enter through the front. Instead, the maître d’, a woman in her forties dressed in a designer uniform, already waiting at the curb, bowed slightly and led them through a side archway, past a courtyard strung with low, warm lights and a single fountain whose water murmured like a kept secret. This was the private entrance, reserved for heads of state, royalty, and the very few who could command that level of deference without holding public office.

Inside, the restaurant was a study in restraint, with polished marble underfoot, dark walnut paneling, and lighting that cast everyone in a flattering half-glow. The murmur of conversation shifted as they crossed the threshold, the sound thinning just enough for those paying attention to notice. Eyes turned, but subtly. Too discreet to be called staring, yet too careful to be accidental. A few patrons dipped their heads, not out of politeness, but because their expressions might not have stayed neutral if they looked too long.

Victor didn’t slow, didn’t acknowledge the room beyond the briefest flick of his gaze, as if taking its temperature and finding it acceptable. One hand rested at the small of Elias’s back, the pressure light, guiding without seeming to. The maître d’ led them deeper, toward the far corner where a single table sat apart from the rest, angled so the entire room could be seen without being too easily approached.

No one gushed. No one dared. But more than one smile hovered at the edge of smug satisfaction, because they’d seen him, because they’d seen them, and in this place, that was worth more than gold.

—

The maître d’ pulled out Elias’s chair first, another small concession to Victor’s presence, because here, even the seating order had meaning, and then stepped back, leaving them in the seamless care of a waiter whose nerves were polished into something resembling charm.

Menus were presented, though they might as well have been props. Victor didn’t touch his. Instead, he slid it toward Elias without looking down, his attention fixed instead on the wine list the waiter had brought. He skimmed it once, closed it, and gave a quiet instruction that made the waiter’s shoulders straighten in relief.

When Elias did glance at the menu, it was mostly for form. He caught Victor in the corner of his vision, speaking in that low, precise tone that left no room for misinterpretation. Three dishes, a sequence of wine pairings, and a dessert, and not a single question aimed in Elias’s direction. The waiter nodded, jotting down each instruction like scripture, and slipped away with the smooth efficiency of someone trained never to interrupt.

Elias set his menu down without opening it fully. "So much for me ordering."

Victor turned his head slowly, that faint, infuriating curve tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I said you could order," he murmured, the emphasis falling in exactly the right place to make it sound like a harmless clarification rather than the quiet admission it was.

"You also said you’d let me," Elias countered, leaning back in his chair. "There’s a difference."

Victor reached for his water glass, unhurried, and took a sip before answering. "True. But I know what you’ll eat without picking at it. And I’m not in the mood to watch you dissect your plate like it’s a chemical sample."

Elias’s brow arched. "And this is supposed to be romantic?"

"It’s supposed to make sure you eat," Victor said plainly, leaning back in his own chair with that same air of unshakable control. "Romance is optional."

"So it’s murder," Elias said with half-lidded eyes, his tone flat enough to pass for boredom if not for the faint, dry twist at the corner of his mouth.

Victor’s gaze lingered on him, crimson-dark under the low light, a slow drag from his expression to the subtle slouch in his chair. "So you know. How?"

"So it’s true," Elias replied with a soft exhale. "I just guessed, based on you not being in the hall at the symposium and Ashwin leaving right after you came back."

"I showed him mercy," Victor said, as if the word carried no contradiction. "He was already rotting, his ether corrupted through his core... Ashwin had to dispose of him in a very specific way so no one else would be infected."

Elias’s fingers tapped once against the table, ignoring the wine in front of him. "Corrupted ether," he repeated, tasting the term. "And you, using red ether, aren’t in danger of that?"

Victor’s mouth curved, a slow, dangerous thing. "No. I don’t suffer from it. I made it."

Elias’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but instead of asking the obvious follow-up, he tilted his head, gaze sharpening with a different priority. "Then give me my phone back."

"You’ll get it after you eat," Victor said without hesitation, reaching for his wine. "Both yours and mine are with Ashwin."

Elias arched a brow. "You handed yours over too?"

Victor’s tone was unbothered, almost lazy. "If I didn’t, you’d think I was hiding something. Which I am... but not from you." He set the glass down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze catching and holding Elias’s. "Eat first, and I’ll have Ashwin bring them."

Elias exhaled through his nose, deciding, for now, that hunger was the easier battle to win. He picked up his fork, turning it once between his fingers before looking back at Victor. "Corrupted ether," he said, the words measured. "How does someone like Matteo even manage to use it? It’s not exactly covered in the basic curriculum."

Victor’s mouth twitched. "It isn’t covered anywhere. Not properly. That’s the point."

"You’re controlling it," Elias said, not quite a question. His expression was still neutral, but there was a familiar flicker behind his eyes, the academic reflex, the PhD student dissecting data points in real time. "If your red ether is stable, and Matteo’s wasn’t, then the simulation models don’t account for whatever makes yours different."

"Simulation models." Victor’s voice curled faintly around the words, as if testing them for weight. "You want to study it."

Elias’s fork clicked once against the plate. "I want to understand it."

Victor leaned back, the shadows at the edges of his expression deepening with a kind of private amusement. "Then you’d better eat. That answer takes longer than one course."