Pushing away from the wall, Trin tiptoes towards the stairs. A quick glance at the mirrors shows Gerrick bent over his plate, intent on his food. Blain stands in front of him, hands clenched as white as the towel he uses to wipe down the bar. Without looking up, the gunner continues his meal as if he isn’t even having this discussion.
“That’s the whole problem,” Blain mutters, pissed. As Trin steps up on the first riser, the board creaks beneath his feet and his brother’s gaze flickers to him. For a moment their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror. Trin holds his breath, sure Blain will direct his anger towards him, but he turns back to Gerrick. “You move on and then what, huh? He wastes the rest of his life waiting for you to come back while you f**k your way through the outposts?
