Duban and Safira didn't say anything for a long time.
Neither did Malik.
All three of them just stood there, looking at each other.
What threw them off—Hell, probably scared them more than if he'd yelled—was that Malik didn't look angry. Not even a little. No clenched fists, no raised voice, no heat in his expression.
Nothing.
And that 'nothing?'
That hit way harder than any outburst ever could.
It was like they weren't even worth the trouble of being mad at.
Like he'd already put them in some box in his head labeled {Over.}
Duban opened his mouth, then closed it.
Safira took a step forward, then hesitated.
Both of them wanted to say something, anything, to fix it—but there was no fixing this.
Malik finally moved... though it wasn't much of a 'move.'
He rested his arms on his knees and stared at the ground.
Then, without looking up, he spoke:
"Just tell me the state of things."
Safira flinched like he'd struck her.
Duban sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
