Elara remained seated as Alistair walked in, the lamp still unlit. The kettle on the stove was making that faint ticking sound iron makes when it's just come off the heat.
Two cups sat on the table between them.
That was the entire extent of her preparation for him.
Alistair sat across from her, slowly.
On the walk back to the door, he had thought he would say nothing when he sat down. He had thought he would let the silence in the room do its work for him.
However, Elara had set out the second cup, and Elara had not gone to bed, and Elara was looking at him across the table with that small, steady patience of someone who had already decided she would not be the one to ask first.
Seeing this, Alistair spoke first.
"I was sixteen," said Alistair, in a low voice.
Elara only watched him, not nodding.
