They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
Not the kind laced with tension—but the quiet that came after something significant had been acknowledged and set aside, for now. The food was good—balanced, filling, subtly seasoned in that way Astron always managed, never flashy but undeniably thoughtful. Irina ate slowly, glancing over at him now and then.
He hadn't said anything more.
But his silence said enough.
When they finished, she stood first, brushing her fingers lightly against the edge of her empty plate before taking it to the sink. Astron followed her without a word, rinsing his own and setting it down beside hers. His movements were as quiet and composed as ever.
But Irina could still see the edge of fatigue in him. Not in his body—he moved with the same deliberate control—but in the rhythm of it. Slower. Less driven. Like something behind his eyes hadn't stopped spinning since yesterday.
She turned toward him as he wiped his hands on the cloth by the sink.
