Something about this place is 'traditional', as opposed to the more cutting-edge restaurants in the Capitol. There are menus, silk flowers in little vases on the tables, and a woman behind a stove who is wearing her hair in a simple bun rather than in an extravagant style. The overhead lamp is dim but warm, and Jason realizes as his eyes seem to relax how his light sensitivity hasn't completely vanished since yesterday.

"Strawberry crepe and decaf coffee, please. Black." He slips his credit card over to the barista. Behind the counter, he squeezes Swann's hand, then twines their fingers. They take a seat near the window.

"Thank God it's nearly our day off." He settles in, glancing out the window to make sure his car's lights are appropriately off. "Maybe if neither of us have any more dire health emergencies, we can try kiting again."