All three of them sat down, and as expected of a diner open this late into the night, only one dish remained on the menu.
The rest had been sold out hours ago, back when the sun still painted the city in hues of gold and heat.
"Better than nothing," Marcus muttered, his tone resigned but far from disappointed.
The waiter approached without a word, placing a tray down in front of them. With practiced hands, he set out three steaming bowls filled to the brim with noodles—each one glistening under the warm, low light of the diner. A savory scent drifted up with the steam, carrying notes of soy, ginger, and something smoky.
Marcus reached out without hesitation, grabbing a fork and digging in.
"So then, what's the myth about, anyway?" he asked mid-slurp, the sound of noodles disappearing into his mouth cutting through the quiet hum of the near-empty establishment.
