The Lamplighter was already alive with movement by the time Caspian stepped through the doors. The familiar scent of seared meat and rosemary filled the air, blending with the warmth of fresh bread straight from the ovens. The low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the distant murmur of the kitchen—it was routine, predictable.
Just how he liked it.
He adjusted the cuffs of his shirt as he made his way toward the bar, nodding at Mariah, who was already halfway through setting up for the evening. She gave him a knowing smirk.
“You’re early,” she remarked.
Caspian shrugged. “I like getting ahead of the chaos.”
Mariah rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. They both knew the night would get busy fast. He moved toward the back, intent on stowing his coat before heading to the floor, but
