"We can speak freely here," Marlon said, settling back into his seat.
I looked around, taking the place in properly for the first time since we'd stepped inside.
"It's a kebab restaurant," I said.
"It is," he nodded.
Of all the places to hold a private conversation in the middle of an apocalypse, a kebab joint hadn't exactly topped my list of predictions. But honestly? It worked. The windows were thick with grime, which meant nobody was seeing in from the street. The booths were deep and cushioned — the old kind, with padded vinyl seating that had gone a little soft with age but was still more comfortable than anything I'd sat on in weeks. The place smelled faintly of old spices and something that might have been cooking oil once upon a time, back when that sort of thing still happened.
