Reiner's question hung in the air like a stubborn fog that refused to lift. Even he wasn't sure where the guts to ask it had come from. Maybe it was just that he couldn't stand letting the fear in his head keep growing without an answer.
Glen didn't reply right away. Instead, he stared into the fire, as if the crackling flames were whispering truths more honest than any man could give.
Seconds ticked by. Silence. Only the pop and hiss of burning wood filled the room, and Reiner felt himself sinking into that heavy quiet that wrapped around them both.
Finally, Glen spoke.
"You know I've got no right to force Etien into anything."
His tone was flat, but there was something underneath it—something layered, unreadable. He leaned back a little, fingers tapping once against the armrest before stopping, then flicked his gaze toward Reiner, who stood trembling where he was.
