Upon hearing Schiller's voice, Deathstroke did not even turn his head. He simply used the tongs to take some vegetables and a fried egg, then walked straight to a seat. Schiller followed him over and sat across from him.
"I've always been curious. How do mercenaries in masks like you eat?" Schiller asked, staring at Deathstroke's face. Then he saw Deathstroke lift half his mask through a gap in the collar of his uniform, exposing his mouth before putting a piece of steak into it.
From the jaw he exposed, he looked quite young. Schiller just did not know whether, like in the comic-book backstory, he was already married with children.
"You're here on a job? Who's the target this time?" Schiller continued eating from his plate. "We're old acquaintances, after all. Don't tell me I'm the target again?"
"Not you," Deathstroke answered curtly. He was a man of few words, completely unlike his cousin, but every word and action of his revealed quite a bit of information to Schiller.
First, Deathstroke really had come here for a job. Second, the target was not Schiller. Third, the target was probably somewhere in this hotel.
There was very little food on Deathstroke's plate. Compared with his height and build, it was far less than even a normal breakfast. That meant he would probably make his move soon, so he could not eat too much and compromise his mobility.
Judging by his clothing and gear, he had already prepared all his equipment. He also did not care about the strange looks tourists nearby were giving his outfit. That meant he was not here to investigate. This would be his last visit here, so he was not worried about being exposed.
Schiller treated the encounter as a coincidence, at least until ten minutes