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The silence of the solemn night was deafening. Words were meager, insufficient for the brimming thoughts restrained by fear. Lauren wished Camila would stop stirring her cup of tea. The droning, rhythmic scrape of the spoon was sharp in her ear canal. She wished she peeled her eyes off the wooden material of the table and just looked at her. Most of all, she wished for Camila to speak. They'd wasted years mulling over what happened. There was no reason to waste any more. At Lauren's request, they moved to the kitchen, where Lauren had pine needle tea waiting for them. She took what little power she could by staying on her feet, arms wrapped around herself - a frail armor she wore that would easily disintegrate at Camila's mercy. But Lauren misunderstood Camila's silence as aversion t
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