Falcon ate like a starving man, which was exactly what he was. The woman, Sly, had said to get enough food to feed them all. The black elf—Modal, Falcon thought his name was—had gone a little overboard. Three burgers— real beef, not soy filler—pasta salad, bread, cheese, salad . . . more food for the three of them than Falcon would have picked out for six of his gang chummers. He scoped out the hotel room. Of course, anybody who could afford this kind of doss wasn’t going to skimp on food.