Daemon shook his head when he heard the question, but more to prevent some memories from resurfacing than to give an answer.
"No, it's been a while since I came back to the city, so I'm still not used to the changes that happened while I was away."
Cynthia was curious about his background and his past. Even soldiers got periods of rest to go home. But she knew not to push things, so instead of asking, she proposed:
"I will lead the way then. I know of a good French restaurant. I assure you that you will not be disappointed."
He only gave a distant smile in response and turned his head to look at the city.
It had really changed. Some buildings he was seeing had not been there six years ago. Like the office building they just drove past that used to be an apartment building.
Maybe he would take a stroll in the city some time later to rediscover it. Hopefully some places with good memories remained intact. That was all he had left after what happened.
It took less than twenty minutes for Cynthia to pull her car before a high-class building.
They went inside, and she led the way toward the restaurant with familiarity.
It was many floors up, spacious, and with a view on the cityscape but without the noise of the latter.
The staff seemed to know her as they directed them to a table beside the window without any prompt from her.
Meanwhile, after he was done observing the inside of the restaurant, he stood before the window and looked outside, as if he was admiring the scenery. Though his gaze did linger on the places that allowed an obstacle free view of where he would be sitting.
While he was looking down at the street, a smell of perfume was brought closer as female footsteps stopped beside him.
"The view is not bad, is it?"
He nodded at Cynthia's question.
"Indeed, the view is not bad."
As for whether the view was the true reason for his behavior, he saw no need to explain that.
She smiled at the positive progression of the impromptu date.
"Come, let's order what we will eat."
They sat down, and while she looked through the menu, she noticed he didn't touch the one given to him. She asked in bewilderment:
"You are not placing an order? Don't worry, it's my treat. If it is the language barrier you are afraid of, the menu is not just in french."
It had been so long since he last received that kind of low-key contempt. He subtly scanned the designer clothes Cynthia was wearing.
"I will take the same thing as you. I can't eat anything heavy for now."
The neutral smile he showed made Cynthia feel a bit of pity. If not for the wounded left side of the face, Daemon would have been even more handsome.
That day, when he saved her, she didn't manage to look at him closely in the heat of the moment, but she did remember that his wound had looked nasty. Maybe the scars left behind later would be ugly.
Still, she hid everything with a jovial smile and called the waiter:
"Ask the chef for a special light menu. My friend here just left the hospital, so we must make him forget the atrocious taste of the food there."
"Of course, Miss Harsh. Anything else?"
"Yes. Ask the chef to make the dessert light and not too sweet. And in the meantime, bring us two non-alcoholic cocktails."
"Alright, Miss. I will be right back."
After the waiter left, she turned to Daemon with a soft gaze:
"I know I said it yesterday at the hospital, but again, thank you for saving me. If not for you, the bullet might have killed me. Or the criminal would have had."
"Don't mention it. I only helped because I could. Everyone would have done the same."
She shook her head and said:
"You were not in the best state at the time, and you still helped me. Not everyone would do something like that."
As she was about to continue speaking, the waiter came back with two glasses that he placed in front of them.
"These drinks are on the house, Miss Harsh. It is to celebrate the recovery of this gentleman."
Cynthia responded with a smile but without much surprise.
"It's very kind of you, thank you."
"Think nothing of it, Miss Harsh. I will bring the rest of your command soon."
"Thank you."
After the waiter left, she tasted the cocktail before turning to Daemon:
"Try it, Daemon, it's not bad."
He nodded after taking a sip. It was indeed not bad. The chill the drink brought to his stomach was a welcomed sensation, and it seemed to wake it up a little from the months of inactivity.
He absentmindedly looked outside as he kept draining his glass, and only when a question came in an interested voice did he turn his attention back.
"So, tell me about yourself. You said you have been away for a while. Where have you been, and what have you been doing? Is it because of military duty? Will you leave again, or will you be staying?"
"I'm still thinking about the last question. But instead of me, why not tell me about yourself? I want to know the kind of person I saved."
Cynthia didn't care about the lack of concrete answers to her questions, or at the guard Daemon had against her. She was instead surprised:
"You know my name. I thought you would have done some research already."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. He couldn't be said to have had the time to do what she said, though he did lack interest in doing so.
"Are you famous?"
The question was like an arrow to the pride hidden in her heart. Her smile didn't vanish, but her lips did twitch for a moment.
"I'm not famous, but most would know about my family." She took a sip of her drink, then steered the conversation in another direction: "Look at me being inconsiderate. You just left the hospital after months of coma, you wouldn't care about superfluous things."
Just then, their order came and relieved the woman from her embarrassment.
"Have a taste and tell me what you think. The chef here is the reason this restaurant became one of my favorites."
He did just that, and as she watched him eat, she couldn't contain her curiosity:
"Are you feeling pain when you eat?"
He looked at her gesture when she pointed at the side of her face before understanding what she was talking about.