The stillness in the cell is suffocating, the air thick with the remnants of their heated exchange. Lara's chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, her hands tightly gripping the cold stone of the wall. The flickering torchlight dances, casting long, jittering shadows across the floor, like ghosts moving in time with the pulse of her anger.
Esme sits across from her, the same place she's been since the clash of words, but now her body language speaks volumes. Her shoulders are slumped, but not in defeat. There's a heaviness to her silence, a quiet acceptance. The tension between them hasn't evaporated, but it's slowed, softened like the heat of a dying fire, reduced to smoldering embers.
