Trafalgar set down his fork and leaned slightly forward. "Good morning, Sylis. How are you feeling?"
For a long second, she just stared at the table. Then, with a voice flat and cracked from too many tears, she muttered, "Like shit."
The words hit the quiet hall like a hammer. A few heads turned their way, brows raised at the bluntness. But no one said anything. They all returned to their food, letting the weight settle again.
Trafalgar kept his expression neutral. Inside, he winced. 'Well… at least she's honest.'
A servant arrived, placing a tray gently in front of Sylis. Warm bread still steaming from the oven, a bowl of rich broth, cuts of tender meat, and dried fruit arranged neatly. The kind of meal meant to restore strength, not please the tongue.
Sylis didn't thank the servant. She just picked up a piece of bread and tore it apart slowly, chewing as if every bite weighed her down. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale, the grief clinging to her like a second shadow.
