We started having dinner together three nights a week.

It was awkward at first. We'd sit across from each other in a private corner of the dining hall and struggle to find things to talk about. Pack business felt too formal. Personal topics felt too raw. We mostly ended up discussing the school or the weather.

But it was something.

After two weeks of stilted dinners, Drogo finally broke the pattern.

"This is ridiculous," he announced halfway through our meal. "We're sitting here talking about grain supplies when there are actual things we need to discuss."

"Like what?"

"Like how you're really doing. Like whether I'm making this worse by...