The evening had settled quietly into Halftide, the world outside its protective dome cloaked in stillness. Arthur sat at the long wooden table in the galley, a bowl of barely-touched stew cooling before him. Melite joined him without a word, her own meal held loosely in her hands. She eased into the seat beside him, posture comfortable, familiar.
For a long minute, neither spoke. The quiet wasn't strained; it carried the weight of shared understanding, the fatigue that seeped into their bones after days spent chasing ghosts and echoes. Melite broke it first, her voice gentle, almost amused.
"You've been stirring that stew for a full minute, Arthur. Waiting for it to confess something?"
Arthur blinked, realizing his spoon was still slowly circling. He stopped. Set it down. "Lost in thought." He murmured.
Melite chuckled softly, her eyes briefly crinkling at the edges, genuine warmth suffusing her expression. "I noticed."
