Dinner was simple, but warm—potatoes roasted with herbs, stew with carrots and turnips, and fresh bread baked that morning. I craved rice, but when I asked, the parents exchanged confused glances.
Claude pinned his gaze on me, silently telling me not to be picky with the food served, but I just knew, inside him, he was screaming because the food was so bland.
Emil's parents insisted on second helpings, despite Claude's insistence that they didn't need to go to the trouble. I marveled when the mother insisted and witnessed the captain force-feed himself.
Emil sat beside me the whole time, his eyes still wide from everything that had happened, but calmer now, occasionally glancing at Claude with a kind of nervous awe.
Claude didn't speak much. Just listened to the parents and me talk. Watched us with blank eyes, especially me, while eating in silence.
I tried not to, but I kept sneaking glances at him.
