Ash’s POV
The dining hall felt louder than usual tonight. Forks scraping plates, chairs scraping floors, voices overlapping in that way groups do when they think they’re safe behind walls. I took the seat at the far end again, back to the wall, tray balanced on my knees until I could set it down without drawing more eyes than necessary. The lamb smelled good. I didn’t taste much of it.
Devan appeared across from me like he’d been waiting for the right moment. He always showed up first, sat, and started talking. Never aggressive or loud. Just… there. Persistent in the quietest way possible.
“You eat like the food personally offended you,” he said, sliding his own tray forward.
I kept my eyes on the plate. “Habit.”
“From where?”
I took a bite instead of answering. Chewed and swallowed.
