It didn't take much for Zayden to get drunk. Or maybe it did, but Ren didn't realize. He had been sipping from his first bottle while Zayden was already on his fifth in just two hours.
Neither of them spoke. Perhaps they were both afraid of saying something they shouldn't—of revealing parts of themselves better left hidden. Everyone carried secrets, ones they'd rather bury deep, even from their own hearts if possible.
Zayden leaned back, tilting his head toward the ceiling. He stared at it as if it were a starry sky instead of a plain stretch of white.
"Ren," he said suddenly, his voice breaking through the shrieking wind outside.
Ren blinked, raising his brows, waiting for the General to continue. But Zayden didn't.
A moment passed before he called again, "Ren."
"What is it?" Ren finally asked, setting his glass down on the wooden table.
