Graham and I stood with sandwiches in our hands; the only two people who needed to eat. The sun had set and the dull yellow light that hung above us acted like a filter over our emotions. Stacy had yet to say a word to Lark; this, despite their battling together to dispatch of Isis. I still wanted to know what happened, but did not know how to approach the subject without either of them storming off and leaving. Graham, still sullen over his attack and subsequent failure, mumbled about bread, meat, and cheese between bites. Lark etched patterns into the table, her fingernail slicing through the wood surface like it was skimming water. I’d tried several times to start conversations, but the silence that met me each time was defeating, and after a while I simply gave up. It felt hollow, consoling myself with a ham and cheese sandwich in a room filled with people all too upset to speak to each other. Graham was the first to leave, dusting his hands of crumbs and heading wordlessly up the stairs. Lark soon followed, a petulant look on her face. I stared, speechless. Whatever would happen between the two, I knew it would be equally as silent and I hoped that whatever problems still lay between them could be resolved.
