Maisie
Dinner went uneventful for the most part.
The silence was stifling the second I descended the stairs, and the only sounds that echoed in the living room was the sound of metal scraping ceramic.
I was seated beside Jericho, with Mercer and Quinn on the opposite side of me, while Soren took the head of the table. All acting like I wasn't present.
Before my disappearance, we never used to eat at the dinner table. We ate everywhere else but the dinner table. This felt formal and awkward and fucking depressing, and I pushed the food around my place, having no appetite at all even if it had been months since I'd been offered a full course meal, months since I'd eaten well.
Jericho cut into his steak and raised a piece over my plate. "Here, malysh–"
He stopped, eyes widening slightly like he hadn't realized what he was doing until he'd done it.
Jericho took it back, straightening in his seat. "Habits die hard," he said harshly, not sparing me another glance.
