"Sorry," Vencian said.
The word landed and stayed where it was, thin and finished.
She inclined her head once, accepting it without comment, then moved to the table and set a cup upright that had tipped during the scuffle.
"No, it was my fault," she said. "I assumed you were awake."
The lamp between them burned low, its flame reduced to a stub that threw uneven light across untouched plates and cooling food.
Vencian shifted again, placing the table between them, his posture square and contained.
Neither of them reached for the meal.
Seris took her seat with care, smoothing her skirt before settling, her gaze dropping to the tabletop rather than to him.
"We can leave this," she said. "There is no need to resolve it now."
"That would be better," Vencian replied.
The quiet that followed was taut, held in place by choice rather than ease.
The lamp crackled softly as oil fed the wick.
Seris folded her hands and waited, still as the furniture around her.
