The rain had not let up. It drummed on the tin roof of the small beach house with a frustrated drummer who did not want to practice anymore. The wind screamed through the cracks in the wooden shutters and into the room with the scent of salt and something faintly metallic—like rust and salt mixed with the breeze.
Inside, Ethan sat on a faded couch that sagged in the middle, knees bent, elbows resting on knees, his soggy shirt clinging tenaciously to his back. His phone on the coffee table, dark screen reflecting the dull yellow glow from the single lamp in the corner. Zaria on the arm of a faded chair opposite him, legs folded, too-good posture for one who claimed to be at ease.
Neither spoke.
The silence was bitter.
Occasionally, Zaria's gaze flicked at him as though she was sizing hi
