She approached, polite and neutral.
“Good evening. I’m Iris. May I get you something to drink?”
Klaus finally looked up—slowly, like he was deciding whether she counted.
Leon smirked. “They sent the pretty one.”
Klaus tapped the menu like it was a joke. Then, with a smile meant for his son—not for her—he switched into German, deliberately formal and deliberately sharp.
“Let’s see if she even understands a word. I doubt she can follow anything beyond ‘yes, sir.’”
Leon laughed.
Iris heard every syllable. Cleanly. Completely.
But she didn’t react.
She simply smiled the same professional smile… and waited.
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