The cafeteria around them hummed with fluorescent indifference. Conversations drifted from distant tables, and the clatter of utensils and trays formed a low domestic soundtrack. Yet their corner of the room felt sealed off from the world. Victor sat impossibly straight, shoulders squared, as though slouching even an inch would allow the truth Zane had spoken to sink deeper. Zane sat across from him, leaning back but tense, his fingers tapping once against the side of the metal chair.
The aftermath of their argument hung in the air with the density of smoke. Neither man spoke. Neither needed to. The ground had shifted, and both of them felt it.
Victor stared at his untouched coffee, watching the thin strand of steam disappear before it reached the stale cafeteria air. He was not seeing the cup. His mind remained in Willow's room. He remembered her shallow breaths, the way she murmured Zane's name in her half sleep, and the way she unconsciously leaned toward him despite the pain.
