Dinner on Monday was the first meal since Thursday that felt like just dinner.
No competition brackets to review. No security positioning to account for. No operational assessment running underneath the social surface of the dining hall.
Just food and the people who had been through the week and were now on the other side of it, which was a different thing from the week itself in the way that all afters were different from their befores.
William arrived at six-fifteen.
The dining hall had its regular evening population — the full academy complement rather than the expanded competition version, familiar faces in familiar configurations, the ambient noise level of a place that knew itself. He found his table by the window and sat and looked at the grounds outside in the fading light.
Liam arrived two minutes later.
