Many times, this world was the very definition of tempting fate.
Ding!
The moment the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor, Schiller did not open his eyes. Instead, he rushed out at top speed, recalling the layout of the seventh floor as he had seen it through Peter's eyes: around the foyer, down a long corridor, then a turn to the right.
The instant he pushed open a glass door, brilliant lights flooded his vision.
Accustomed to darkness, Schiller was dazzled for a moment. He raised an arm in front of his eyes, slowly opened them, and squinted toward the dazzling radiance ahead.
A crowd of people stared at him in surprise.
Schiller slowly lowered his arm and finally saw that the enormous dining hall was filled with tables, every one of them surrounded by diners. Eight massive chandeliers shone brilliantly overhead, while neatly dressed waiters stood on either side, awaiting orders.
Closest to Schiller was a man in a chef's uniform. Schiller saw that the man's head had completely melted and pooled around his neck, but when the light shifted, he became a handsome, dignified old man with silver hair combed neatly back.
Schiller looked dazedly toward the center of the dining hall. Everyone sat in their chairs wearing splendid formal attire, studying the menus placed on the tables, while chefs bustled about behind the door leading to the kitchen.
"Looks like our final guest has arrived," the head chef said. "I assume you still remember the seat you reserved?"
"Yes..." Schiller said. "I reserved... a seat by the window."
"Then hurry along."
Schiller slowly walked toward the final empty seat at the table by the window, as though it had been prepared specifically for him. He sat down and saw a familiar face across from him—Jerome's twin