You take a step away. They're just repeating the same arguments over and over again, descending down a spiral that goes nowhere new. If they want to keep doing this, fine. If they want to hate each other, fine. But you're not going to be a part of it.
Kirill disengages and walks over to you. "You've known them longer than I have," he says. "This isn't normal for them, is it?"
"I mean, we've all gotten into arguments before. Just not quite like this," you tell him.
"I wonder why it's happening now," he says.
You might know the answer, but you don't want to say it. Maybe it's been waiting to happen for a long time, and this is just an excuse. Maybe you've all grown out of each other over time.
Or maybe it's just the fog, messing with people's minds like it always does. Whatever it is, the adrenaline seems to be wearing off for you. You just can't be bothered to care anymore.
A sound draws your attention elsewhere. You look out the glass at the front of the gallery. You see no one and nothing but fog out there, but you swear you heard it.
The sound of someone knocking on glass.
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