He grabbed another menu and handed it to Liri.
"When customers sit down, you bring them one of these," he said, acting it out. He walked to an empty booth and placed the menu gently on the table. "Then you say, 'Hi, welcome to The Slipgate, my name is Marcus, what can I get you to drink?'"
Liri frowned, absorbing the rhythm of the sentence.
"Hello," she tried, her voice a little too loud. "Welcome to our cave. I am Marcus's niece. What will you fill your thirst with?"
He laughed again, shaking his head. "Points for honesty, kid. We'll tighten up the script later. 'Cave' might scare off the truckers."
Eira stepped forward. "And when they tell you what they want, you remember it?" she asked. "Do you keep it in your head?"
He pulled a small notepad and a cheap ballpoint pen from his apron pocket. "You write it down," he said. "Short. Fast. Like code."
He scribbled on the pad as he spoke. 2 Coff. 1 Pan. 1 Scram. S/Bacon.
He turned the pad so they could see his messy shorthand.
"In my world, this is spellwork," Eira said, tracing the ink. "You draw symbols and food appears from the fire."
"In my world, it's called trying not to screw up someone's order so they don't yell at you," he said.
Liri mimed writing in the air with an invisible pen. "Two hot bean-water," she recited. "Flat bread-cakes with sweet juice. Eggs broken and stirred. Pig strips."
"That's exactly what it is," he admitted, amused. "Just... maybe don't call them 'pig strips' to the customers. They know pigs exist, but they like to pretend breakfast isn't visual."
"Why?" she asked. "Humans are very strange. You eat the beast but do not name it."
"We're complicated," Marcus said.
He moved them toward the bar, pointing things out as they went.
"Cups," he said, tapping a stack. "Plates. Silverware. Forks, knives, spoons. People get nervous if the fork is sticky or the glass has a smudge of someone else's lipstick on it."
Eira nodded slowly. "We have that rule too," she said. "Different cups for different mouths. Also... no drinking from skulls unless the ceremony demands it."
Marcus blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head.
"You know what," he said, "I'm not even going to unpack that right now. No skulls. That's a firm rule. We are a skull-free establishment."
He was halfway through explaining the difference between the "regulars"—the ghosts who never came—and the walk-ins, when he noticed movement at the front window.
A trio of silhouettes hovered just outside the glass, blocking the sun.
A man in a baseball cap, shielding his eyes. A woman pushing a stroller. Another guy peering at the posted hours sign with his hand cupped to the glass.
Marcus's stomach did a small, weird flip. Panic and commerce warring in his gut.
"Oh," he said, his voice dropping. "We have customers."
Both sisters turned toward the door at once, stiffening.
"Customers," Liri repeated, tasting the word like a strange spice.
Eira squinted at the figures outside. "You mean... people who give you money so you feed them," she clarified.
"Exactly," Marcus said. "People who pay me so I can keep this place running. So we can stay here."
"So they are coin-tribe," Liri said, nodding wisely. "Hungry coin-tribe."
"Please don't call them that to their faces," he said. "But yes. That's the idea."
He checked the clock. Technically, he was still a few minutes from the posted opening time, but the CLOSED sign already felt like a lie he couldn't afford to keep telling.
He wiped his hands on his apron.
"Okay," he said. "Game plan. Until I know how people are going to react to you two, and until you know how money and manners work here, I'm going to keep you in the back for the first round."
Liri's face fell. "Back?" she echoed. "Like storage? Like luggage?"
"Like the kitchen," he corrected quickly. "As in... my most trusted people. My secret weapons. The ones who keep the food moving. Not punishment. Just... stage two of training."
Eira's brows drew together slightly. "You do not want your sky-bond seen?" she asked, a dangerous edge to her voice.
He shook his head firmly. "It's not that. I just don't want to throw you into a crowd of strangers who will ask you a hundred questions I haven't prepared you for. Money. Change. Small talk about the weather. Why your ears look the way they do when the hat slips. Why you call coffee 'angry water spirit.'"
Liri glanced guiltily at the coffeemaker. "It is angry," she muttered.
"Exactly," he said. "But they don't want to hear that before they've had their caffeine."
He jerked a thumb toward the kitchen. "So for now, I handle the front. I talk, I take orders, I keep them distracted. You two help me from the back."
He pointed at Liri. "You can bring me clean plates, grab drinks from the cooler, yell if something burns."
He nodded at Eira. "You watch the grill with me. Learn the timing. Help plate the food. It is not glamorous, but it is the heartbeat of the place."
Liri chewed her lip. "We stay in the cave while you fight the coin-tribe alone," she said quietly.
He looked at her. "It's not a fight," he said. "It's breakfast. And you're not staying because I don't trust you. You're staying because I do. I need people I trust watching my back while I smile at strangers."
That landed differently.
Eira's expression shifted, some of the tension smoothing out.
"So we guard your flame while you talk to them," she said. "Kitchen is the hearth. Hearth needs warriors."
"Exactly," he said, relieved. "Now you're talking my language."
Liri straightened a little, puffing out her chest beneath the oversized shirt. "We are hearth warriors," she said, nodding to herself. "Guardians of the hot metal."
He smothered a grin. "Sure. I'll make you a patch later. Hearth Warrior First Class."
A tap sounded at the glass. The man in the baseball cap held up a hand, mouthing something that looked a lot like "You open?"
Marcus took a breath.
He flipped the sign from CLOSED to OPEN and gave the guy a quick nod and a "one minute" gesture.
Then he turned back to the sisters.
"Alright. Positions."
Liri swallowed hard. "Back room?" she asked.
"Kitchen," he corrected. "Stay where you can hear me. If I yell for help, you come running. If you hear me say 'fire drill,' that means something's wrong and we need to get them out. Got it?"
They both nodded.
Eira placed a hand briefly on his forearm. Her touch was grounding. "You are not alone," she said softly. "Even if we are behind the curtain."
He nodded once. "I know."
Liri adjusted her hat, lowering the brim until only a hint of pointed ear showed. "We will make the plates shine," she said. "So your coin-tribe think your cave is blessed."
"That's the plan," he said.
He watched them slip through the swinging kitchen doorway. Eira was already tying one of his spare aprons around her waist with efficient movements. Liri grabbed a stack of plates like she was picking up shields for battle.
For a second, Marcus just stood there in the empty dining room. He felt the coin warm against his chest, the hum of the Slipgate in the bones of the building, and the entirely mundane weight of a couple of hungry locals at his door.
Then he rolled his shoulders, pasted on a service smile, and walked to let them in.
"Morning," he said as the bell chimed. "Welcome to The Slipgate. What can I get you folks to eat?"
Behind him, out of sight, Eira and Liri listened hard to every word, guardians of the hearth, waiting for the signal.