The tea in front of me had cooled, but I kept the cup between my hands as though the warmth still lingered. Roman sat across from me, his hands folded tightly, knuckles pale with pressure. He looked as though he had rehearsed words on his way here, but now they refused to surface.

It was strange, watching him hesitate. The man I remembered had always filled silence with his voice, with certainty that left no space for doubt. This version of him looked less certain. Older not just in appearance, ...