They were heading to Hawthorne, an ultra-exclusive restaurant situated on a private, isolated island. The cost of entry was a staggering $1,250 per person. To Tyler, it was a pilgrimage. To the other guests—a faded movie star, a sharp-tongued food critic, a wealthy elderly couple, and a trio of arrogant tech bros—it was just another notch of status in their heavily cushioned lives.
"Do not eat," Slowik instructed the room, his voice a calm, threatening purr. "Taste. Savor. Relish. But do not eat. Our menu is too precious for merely eating."
Slowik stood in his pristine, open kitchen like a dark conductor. When he brought his hands together in a single, sharp clap, the sound echoed through the dining room like a gunshot. The kitchen staff froze in perfect, terrifying unison.
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