Chapter 4 - The White Tablecloth
The dining room that Arthur led Eleanor into was entirely different from the greasy, rundown front area where Lin Wei sat.
This was a hidden dining room situated behind a soundproofed partition. Here, the floor was covered in dark crimson carpet that swallowed the sound of footsteps. A single round table sat in the center of the room, draped in a crisp, stiffly starched white tablecloth. Above it hung a low-pendant tungsten lamp that cast a sharp, theatrical cone of golden light directly onto the table, leaving the corners of the room in deep, velvety shadow.
"Sit, please," Arthur said softly, guiding Eleanor into a high-backed mahogany chair.
Eleanor collapsed into the cushion. The warmth of the room hit her skin like a physical impact, making her numb fingers throb with a sharp, prickling pain.
Arthur stepped into the shadows. A second later, David emerged from the dark corner, carrying the silver tray bearing the steaming plate of beef noodles and sirloin steak.
The aroma flooded Eleanor’s senses. Her stomach let out a loud, involuntary spasm that was almost painful. Her mouth filled with saliva so fast she nearly choked. She hadn't eaten a solid meal in four days—only stale bread rolls retrieved from behind a bakery dumpsters.
David placed the plate down before her with exquisite precision. Next to it, he laid a heavy silver fork and a folded cloth napkin.
"Please eat, and enjoy your meal," David said, his voice dropping into that soothing, hypnotic rhythm. He leaned down, placing a warm hand gently on her grey hoodie shoulder. "I'm happy to see you smile."
Eleanor looked up at him. Tears welled in her eyes—genuine, overwhelming tears born of sheer physical relief and the sudden, disorienting shock of unexpected comfort.
"Thank you so much," she wept, her thin chest heaving as she placed a trembling hand over her heart. "I never expected someone to help me like this... I thought... I thought I was going to die out there tonight."
"No one dies here, Eleanor," David said softly.
Eleanor froze. Her tear-filled eyes snapped up to fix on David’s face.
She hadn't told him her name.
The room seemed to shrink. The warm tungsten light suddenly felt glaring, aggressive, like an interrogation lamp.
May you like
David didn't blink. His hand remained firmly anchored on her shoulder, his fingers digging just deep enough into her muscle to keep her anchored to the chair.
"Eat," David repeated. His smile didn't fade, but his eyes were completely devoid of warmth. They were flat, cold black lenses reflecting the single point of tungsten light. "You need your strength for what comes next."
