Elowyn sat at the far end of the cadet dining table, back straight, face unreadable.
Baron was there at his own spot—but he didn’t speak.
Azpen hadn’t said a word either. He was eating without any restraint.
And Riven? He leaned casually two rows behind, his elbow on the table, eyes fixed on her like he was waiting for her to... do something.
She said nothing, only glanced at the plate in front of her.
Roasted chicken thighs.
Golden. Hot. And glistening.
The others at the table—seven of them—eyed it with low hunger in their throats. No one had eaten enough that morning. And now, ration cuts were making everyone tense and a little cruel.
But Elowyn just... inhaled. And began to count.
Not aloud. Not noticeably.
One... Two... Three...
She looked at each of their faces. Callused ha
