Ilaria ate quietly, hands wrapped around a tin cup that had long since stopped steaming.
Levan had nor said much since they left their tent. There was no visible tension in his face, just the quiet, deliberate calm he wore when thinking too much. He ate little, his movements neat and unhurried, his gaze occasionally distant like his mind was still somewhere in the fog of the Expanse.
Ilaria took a sip from the cup before finally asking, "Did something happen on patrol?"
"Nothing that concerns you."
She hesitated. "…But you're quieter than usual."
He allowed the smallest breath of a smile, though it did not quite reach his eyes. "You're one to talk."
She clamped her lips sheepishly. "I'm allowed to be quiet. I was nearly scared out of my skin last night."
He picked up his spoon, resuming to eat. "Then be quiet. I'll keep an eye on you."
"…"
Her heartbeat stuttered, but she went back to her plate.
