"Starlit Suppers Kitchen."
Tobey rolled the name around in his mind as he stepped out of the house. It sounded warm, domestic.
He checked his reflection in the darkened window of a parked car. He was wearing a faded black hoodie over a white T-shirt, dark indigo denim jeans, and his sturdy leather work boots.
At least they're clean, he thought. Good thing I changed a few hours before reaching the bridge.
If he had walked in here covered in the mud and grime from days of walking, someone would have called the police. But now? He just looked like a blue-collar traveler passing through town.
Tobey stepped away from the stone pathway of Barren's house and onto the paved sidewalk.
The street was alive. Unlike the suffocating darkness of the forest, this neighborhood was bathed in the warm, electric glow of lamp posts standing like sentinels across every home. The whole district hummed with the energy of commercial residential buildings and small businesses remaining open for the evening crowd.
There were few people walking on the sidewalks—some alone with their heads down, others walking in pairs, couples holding hands or parents herding small children.
Tobey paused and looked back at Barren's house one last time.
Beige trim. Number 42. Third house from the corner.
He memorized the details instantly. In a neighborhood where every townhouse looked almost identical, getting lost was a genuine risk.
He turned back to the street and frowned.
"Two blocks down," Barren had said. But he hadn't said which way.
Tobey looked to his right; the road was flat. He looked to his left; the road dipped significantly, forming a gentle slope that led toward a cluster of brighter neon signs in the distance.
Did he mean 'down' the street... or 'down' the hill?
Tobey hesitated. Logic suggested the commercial area was down the slope, but what if "The Starlit Suppers" was a hidden gem in the quiet direction?
Should I go back and ask?
He imagined knocking on the door again, the giant seven-foot man asking for directions like a lost child.
Fuck that!
He wasn't going to look incompetent five minutes into the job.
Down the slope it is, Tobey decided. Maybe I should ask someone if they know where that diner is.
He slid the crisp 50 Crea bill into the front pocket of his hoodie. Then he began to walk, his heavy boots making a rhythmic thud against the concrete.
As he moved down the slope, he felt the atmosphere change.
He hadn't pulled his hood up, letting the warm glow of the streetlights illuminate his face clearly.
Pedestrians glanced up—way up—their eyes widening as they took in his massive seven-foot frame. He saw a mother instinctively pull her child closer due to his sheer size, but the moment her eyes met his, her guard faltered.
It wasn't just his height. It was the face of a movie star on the body of a Titan.
A group of teenage girls walking past stopped mid-conversation, their heads turning in unison to watch him pass, whispering furiously to one another.
Tobey didn't scowl. Instead, he met their gazes and offered a polite, sweet smile.
The mother blinked, flustered, and offered a shy nod in return.
I guess I'm hard to miss, he thought, amused by their reactions. I think I need to start getting used to it.
As he continued walking, scanning the storefronts with his enhanced eyes, he noticed something else. Most of the people around him were holding smartphones, their faces illuminated by the soft blue light of screens. It was just like Earth.
A pang of longing hit him.
I really need to earn money so I can buy a phone.
His Supermarket was incredible, but it had no electronic gadgets. And without a phone, he couldn't call Peony.
He wanted to hear her voice so badly. But he knew he couldn't just call her yet. Her family was high-profile—wealthy, powerful, and protective. He was currently a broke runaway with a stolen name. He couldn't take her back easily, not until he was someone worthy of standing next to her.
She's probably safe in her home right now, he told himself, pushing the thought away. I just hope she's okay.
"Bree!"
A woman's scream shattered his thoughts.
Tobey's head snapped up. Fifty meters ahead, he saw a woman in a jogging outfit sprinting down the sidewalk, her face twisted in panic. Ahead of her, a little girl on a small pink bicycle was wobbling dangerously.
The child was panicking, her handlebars jerking left—straight toward the main road where cars were speeding by.
"Papaa!" the girl cried out, unable to brake.
Tobey didn't think. He reacted.
His legs, enhanced by the reconstruction, propelled him forward in a blur. He covered the distance in seconds, moving faster than a man his size should have been able to.
Just as the bike's front wheel dipped off the curb and onto the asphalt, a large hand clamped down on the handlebars.
Halt.
Tobey stopped the bike instantly but gently, his grip firm enough to freeze the momentum but controlled enough not to send the girl flying. He stabilized the bike with one hand and placed the other on the girl's small shoulder to keep her steady.
"Gotcha," Tobey said softly.
A second later, a man burst onto the scene, gasping for air, his face red from adrenaline.
"Papaa!" The kid scrambled off the seat and latched onto her father's neck, bursting into tears.
"It's okay, sweetie. It's okay," the man gasped, hugging her tight, his legs trembling.
The mother arrived a moment later, breathless and pale. "Is she okay?"
She took the child from the man, burying her face in the girl's hair. "Oh, thank Deity. Oh, thank Deity."
The father took a moment to compose himself, wiping sweat from his forehead. He looked up at Tobey, realizing for the first time just how large the stranger was. But there was no fear in his eyes, only immense gratitude.
"Thank you," the man said sincerely, bowing his head. "Thank you so much for saving our daughter."
The woman looked up, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome," Tobey said, stepping back to give them space. "She's safe. That's what matters."
The father wiped his wife's tears with a white face towel he had around his neck.
Tobey looked at the little girl, who was still sniffling.
"Just don't let this scare her off the bike forever," Tobey advised gently. "Biking is the best pastime for a family like yours."
The couple nodded, holding their daughter close.
"And maybe stick to the park next time," Tobey added with a warm smile. "Let her get used to riding in public before tackling the hills."
"We will," the father promised. "We definitely will."
Tobey turned to leave, but then paused. He realized this was the perfect chance to solve his own problem.
"Actually," Tobey said, looking back at them. "Could I ask you a favor?"
"Anything," the woman said immediately, clutching her daughter. "Please."
"I'm new in town, and I'm looking for a diner called Starlit Suppers Kitchen. Was I heading the right way?"
The father's face lit up, eager to be useful to the man who saved his child.
"Starlit Suppers? Yes, absolutely," the man said, pointing down the slope toward the brighter lights. "It's just two blocks down, on the right side. It has a big neon sign with a spoon on it. You can't miss it."
"They have the best roast beef in the district," the woman added helpfully, wiping her eyes.
"That's exactly what I was hoping to hear," Tobey said. "Thank you."
The father stepped forward, extending his hand. He had to reach up slightly, but his grip was firm.
"I'm Nathan, by the way. This is my wife, Liora , and our little troublemaker is Briana."
"I'm Timothy," Tobey replied, shaking the man's hand gently.
"Timothy Gray."
"Well, Timothy Gray," Nathan said earnestly. "We live in that blue house right on the corner back there. We've been in this neighborhood for twenty years. If you ever need anything—anything at all—you just knock on our door. We owe you one."
"I'll keep that in mind," Tobey said, appreciating the offer. It was always good to have allies, especially locals who knew the lay of the land.
"Have a good night, Timothy!" Liora called out as he turned away. "Enjoy the food!"
Tobey gave them a final wave and continued his walk down the slope, his boots thudding rhythmically against the pavement.
Excitement bubbled in his chest. He picked up his pace, eager to reach the diner, eager to taste real food, and—most importantly—eager to see what his Rebate could actually do.
He walked faster, his mind already calculating possibilities, so he didn't hear the conversation the trio had after he faded into the distance.
"Where do you think that big man lives?" Nathan asked, racking his brain as he stared at Tobey's retreating back.
He knew every corner of Brightwood. He had a few ideas, but most of the places that could house a man with that kind of bearing were in the luxury districts, not down here.
"Do you think Timothy is the son of a rich businessman?" Nathan mused.
"Or maybe a celebrity?" Liora suggested, hoisting Briana onto her hip.
"A new one? Nah," Nathan shook his head. "He could be a celebrity, sure. With that size and that face? He'd be famous overnight. But have you ever heard the name 'Timothy Gray' before? Have you ever seen him on TV?"
Liora thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No."
"My bet is... he's the son of a tycoon. A Young Master," Nathan whispered, leaning in close to her ear. "I felt his hand when we shook. It was soft. Smooth. Those aren't the hands of a worker, Liora. That's old money."
He grinned, looking confident in his deduction.
"I'm 100% sure. I'd bet my dick on it."
Liora burst out laughing and slapped his arm. "Who wants your..." She took a quick, teasing glance at his crotch. "Please."
"Of course you do," Nathan grinned.
They laughed as they continued walking home; Liora holding little Bree, and Nathan pushing the bike, their fear from moments ago replaced by the thrill of a mystery.
*****
There it was. Just as Nathan had described. Impossible to miss.
Starlit Suppers Kitchen occupied the entire ground floor of a sturdy, corner brick building, standing out from the surrounding shops like a lighthouse in a dark sea.
While the other storefronts were dimming their lights for the night, the diner was ablaze with energy. Massive plate-glass windows wrapped around the corner, casting a pool of golden, buttery light onto the sidewalk that stretched all the way to the curb.
And floating above the entrance was the sign Nathan had promised.
It was a retro-style neon masterpiece buzzing softly against the night air. The words "Starlit Suppers Kitchen" were scripted in a glowing, electric blue, arching over a large, bright yellow crescent moon cradling a silver spoon.
It didn't look like a fast-food joint. It looked like a shelter.
Tobey scanned the parking lot. It was packed. There was a mix of practical, middle-class sedans, but scattered among them were sleek, polished vehicles that screamed wealth—low-slung sports cars and heavy, armored SUVs.
The hell? Tobey thought, his heart skipping a beat. Why am I nervous?
It wasn't the danger; he could handle danger. It was the atmosphere.
After days of isolation in the forest and the void, walking into a place packed with civilized people felt overwhelming.
And back on Earth, he wasn't used to this either. As a low-ranking dog for the Syndicate, he didn't get to enjoy "nice" dinners. He was the muscle, the guy waiting in the alley or standing guard in the rain while the Boss ate inside. He lived in the shadows of the city, eating garbage food on the run.
To walk in through the front door of a place like this—bright, warm, full of innocent families—not to break legs, but to order a meal? It felt alien. It felt like he was dirtying the floor just by standing there.
People were coming and going through the glass double doors, laughter spilling out every time they opened.
Okay. Here I come.
He took a breath, checked the 50 Crea note in his pocket one last time, and walked toward the entrance.
As he moved through the crowd outside, the reaction was immediate. People instinctively parted like water, stepping aside to give the seven-foot stranger a wide berth. Some looked intimidated, others just surprised, but Tobey ignored them, keeping his eyes on the door.
He pushed the glass door open.
A bell chimed overhead, and immediately, the smell hit him—roasted meat, rich gravy, and fresh coffee. It was intoxicating.
A uniformed employee standing at the host podium looked up. And up. And up.
Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his height, but she quickly recovered, flashing him a professional, welcoming smile.
"Welcome to Starlit Suppers Kitchen," she chirped, craning her neck to meet his eyes. "Dining in, or ordering takeout?"