The chef and her assistant cleared the last plates, bowing slightly before disappearing into the villa's interior corridors.
Kane stretched, his stomach pleasantly full as he padded toward the balcony.
The ocean spread below them like liquid starlight—bioluminescent plankton painting each wave with electric blue trails that pulsed and swirled.
"Wow." Kane leaned against the railing, his nine tails unfurling behind him.
Cyrus appeared beside him, carrying two crystal glasses and a dark bottle with an ornate label.
"Island-made wine," Cyrus explained, pouring the deep amber liquid. "Aged in volcanic glass casks."
"Of course it is." Kane accepted his glass, taking a sip.
The wine tasted like burnt honey and sea salt, warm sliding down his throat.
The last streaks of sunset bled into darkness, leaving only the glowing ocean and scattered stars above.
