Every head in the room turned toward the entrance.
Standing in the doorway was a small girl.
She couldn’t have been older than nine. Her clothes were soaked from the rain, hanging loosely from her thin frame. Her hair clung to her face, tangled and damp, and her cheeks were flushed from the cold.
But it wasn’t her appearance that froze the room.
It was the urgency in her eyes.
She stepped forward, almost stumbling.
“Please… don’t eat it,” she said, her voice trembling but determined.
The staff froze. Guests leaned back. A few people instinctively stepped away, unsure of what was about to happen.
Victor didn’t move.
He slowly set his fork down.
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