Dr. Marlowe arrived at a shabby restaurant tucked away in a secluded part of town. The building looked as though it had seen better days, with peeling paint and a flickering neon sign that barely illuminated the entrance.
As soon as she stepped out of the taxi, she took out her phone and quickly texted a particular number, announcing her arrival.
The cool morning air brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of damp pavement and distant traffic. After sending the message, she walked into the restaurant, the bell above the door jingling softly.
The interior was just as unremarkable as the exterior, with worn wooden tables and chairs scattered across the room. She ordered drinks for two and took a seat at a corner table, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of caution and anticipation.
