A tiny food stall at the edge of the city.
Leaky roof, a waiter who sneezes every two minutes, and a menu scribbled on old cow bones.
The perfect place to eat without anyone caring who you are, where you're from, or why you smell like a reused coffin closet.
I sat at the farthest table.
Wobbly table.
Chair creaked with every small movement.
Valmor stood next to me, head hovering just above the table, eyes locked onto the food like an investor eyeing a failing startup.
Dont ask me how horse allowed in.
I sighed.
"Sit," I said.
"I'm a horse."
"Sounds like your problem."
The waiter placed a tray in front of me.
Potato soup.
Bread that looked like it had been licked by a demon.
Water—clear, but with something floating in it that I had no intention of identifying.
I started eating.
First spoonful: warm, decently salty.
Second spoonful: actual potato. Miraculous.
BANG!
The door slammed open.
Every head turned.
Including Valmor's—his neck nearly spun 180 degrees like an owl.
A man entered.
Bleeding.
Staggering.
Blank eyes.
Mouth open, trying to speak.
Then he collapsed.
THUD.
Right next to my table.
Half his body was against my chair leg.
I paused.
Sipped my soup.
Chewed slowly.
Valmor stared at me in horror.
"Aria…"
I kept eating.
"Aria, he… he just died!"
I bit into the bread.
"Aria, this is murder! We have to report it! Or run! Or—"
I glanced at him briefly.
"Valmor."
"What?"
"If you keep yelling, I swear, I'll send you to the kitchen. As sweet soy horse stew."
He immediately clamped his mouth shut with a front hoof.
Dramatically.
Meanwhile, the food stall descended into chaos.
The waiter screamed.
Someone vomited in the corner.
A few people ran out, crashing into tables and who-knows-what.
Me?
Focused.
Spoon.
Soup.
Bread.
Chew.
Silence.
Because in this world, there are three types of people:
Witnesses.
Victims.
And a woman who just wants to eat in peace.
Valmor glanced at me, still trembling.
"You… you're not scared?"
I looked at him while sipping the mysterious water.
"Fear doesn't fill the stomach."
He said nothing.
Just the sound of horse breathing and background panic.
The corpse was still there.
Mouth open.
Eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
I slid my tray a little, so it wouldn't touch the blood.
Priorities.
If he came back to life and asked for a spoonful, then it'd be a problem.
But until that moment?
All I wanted was for my potato soup to stay warm.