The house didn't have a dining room. It barely had rooms, really.
What they called the "hall" was just the front area where a table sat crooked near the window, one leg propped up by a folded rag.
The air smelled faintly of damp wood and yesterday's boiled roots. No incense. No warmth. Just survival.
Vex sat at the table, arms folded, gaze steady. The wood creaked under his weight. He said nothing—just watched.
Maira and Mirea sat across from each other, both hunched slightly over the table. Between them lay a tiny pile of worn copper coins—some dull, some green-tinted around the edges.
They were counting them one by one, lips whispering under their breath, brows knitted with focus.
"One… two… five… eight…"
