The private section of the restaurant had the specific, insulated quality of spaces designed for conversations that weren't meant to be overheard — the soft lighting, the particular arrangement of the furniture, the distance from the main floor that made the ambient noise of other diners a low, indistinct murmur rather than a presence. The table was good. The food was good. The silence between them had been going on long enough to have become its own kind of statement.
Aurora cut into her steak.
She was aware of him watching her. Had been aware of it since they sat down — the specific, careful quality of Ray's attention when he was trying to read something and finding the reading difficult. He had been quieter than usual since they arrived. Not the comfortable quiet of someone at ease, but the particular quiet of someone who had done something and was waiting to find out what it had cost them.
She ate without looking up.
