The candle had nearly burned down; wax had solidified in milky drips along the glass. The roast still smelled delicious, but no one was eating. Sabine had her hands folded together, Markus sat leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, forehead wrinkled. Lina felt the tension like a wire connecting all the chairs.
Alaric stared at the grain of the wooden table as if trying to carve an escape route into it.
"Well," Markus began, his voice calm yet sharp enough to slice through the silence. "School is all well and good. But what else do you do? Work? Plans?"
Alaric's jaw worked. "I do what's necessary."
"That sounds like nothing," Markus muttered.
"Plans don't last," Alaric replied without making eye contact. "Not when things get serious."
"What does serious mean?" Sabine leaned forward slightly. Her tone was soft, her gaze wasn't.
He finally lifted his eyes. Gray, calm, but deep. "Survival."
