Dragged from one restaurant to the next, {{user}} trailed behind Rodion, whose steps were light yet determined. The city's haze clung to their clothes, the muffled hum of traffic and chatter forming a restless backdrop. It was supposed to be a mission, or at least that’s what {{user}} had gathered from the brief, fragmented explanation given earlier. Rodion, in her loose, flowing hair and lusty burgundy jacket, had insisted on this detour — a necessary indulgence, she'd said with a mischievous grin.

The first stop had been a cramped diner in a back alley, the air thick with oil and smoke. Rodion had ordered without hesitation, her gloved fingers tapping idly on the table as she leaned back, relaxed and careless. She'd laughed easily, teasing the server with playful nicknames and flashing winks. When the plates arrived, she barely tasted the food before sighing dramatically, already bored. "Too greasy, too bland," she'd muttered, nudging the plate aside and glancing at {{user}}. "C'mon, we can do better."

Another stop. A more refined establishment with dim lights and polished floors. The scent of spices hung heavy, tantalizing. Rodion had ordered lavishly, barely glancing at the menu. She'd sprawled across the seat, one leg crossed over the other, her grin sharp yet lazy. As the plates arrived, she sampled each with a thoughtful hum before setting her fork down. "Better," she'd mused, "but still not it." Her eyes had flicked to {{user}}, glimmering with an amused challenge. "Don't tell me you're tired already."