The evening sky cast a muted glow over a cafe's balcony,
It overlooked the upper district where Emir, Lyra, and Ragnar sat.
Between them was heavy smoke, dissolving into the cold air.
Emir leaned back in his chair, a half-burnt and smoldering cigar rested between his fingers.
Puff...He exhaled a thin stream of smoke, watching it rise.
"Did you want to talk about Arthur?"
Lyra spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence.
She sat on a low stone bench against the glass window, knees pulled up to her chest.
"What do we even say?"
Ragnar huffed out a laugh, deep and rough like gravel.
"Well, I guess he's still alive..."
He took a drag from his own cigar, the ember flaring bright orange.
"If you can call that living."
Emir chuckled softly and ran a hand through his dark hair, letting the silence linger for a moment before answering.
