For a time, the only sound at the table came from the clinking of cutlery. From the food, steam curled around roast meats, fresh bread, and rich broth. Nobody else appeared to be hungry. Sitting at the head, Nikolai had his elbows off the table. Tonight, the chair seemed heavy.
Selene broke the stillness first, her voice calm and neutral. "Nikolai, isn't there something you want to let off your chest? Or are we here to see you push soup around while considering leaving us again?
He raised his head towards her. Her tone was free of accusations, but her words were sharp.
"I wanted to talk after supper," he said.
Not looking at him, Nikita murmured, "You should've spoken before." Her spoon dropped back into her bowl and clinked gently. We aren't delicate. Just expecting.
Her voice was tighter than usual, but her eyes revealed everything; it was not residual anger or disappointment, maybe only fear.
