Malcolm's POV
They ate in silence.
The clink of spoons against ceramic came steady and repetitive, a small, domestic sound that grounded Malcolm as he lifted another bite to his mouth. The food was hot, over seasoned, heavy with oil. He chewed without really tasting it, jaw working slowly, deliberately, as his eyes moved instead, tracking the room in practiced arcs.
Three tables near the wall.
Two exits.
One server who lingered too long.
Nothing immediate.
Across from him, Iyisha ate more carefully, slower than usual. He noticed the way she favored one side when she leaned forward, the slight stiffness in her shoulders that hadn't been there before. She reached for a piece of meat, fingers closing around it, and winced before she could stop herself.
It was small.
Automatic.
His jaw tightened.
Bruises.
The weight of it settled low in his gut, uncomfortable in a way he didn't indulge. He took another bite, chewing steadily, forcing the motion to remain even.
