Morning light spilled through the tall windows of Inigo's newly leased restaurant as he knelt by the dusty tiles, a pencil between his teeth and a rough sketchpad in hand. Lyra leaned over the counter behind him, watching with a curious expression as he traced out yet another square on the paper.
"That makes four different versions of a stove you've drawn so far," she said, raising an eyebrow. "You designing a war machine or a kitchen?"
Inigo chuckled without looking up. "Trust me, the battlefield and the kitchen aren't so different. Both need good layout and precise tools. One mistake in positioning and someone loses a limb—metaphorically."
Lyra shook her head with a grin and stepped around to peer at the paper. "So that's the deep fryer?"
