Alexa

Harlow turned and left us, carrying his bowl into the tent. Even though I tried again to connect with Harlow, calling him back to sit with me, he didn’t respond anymore. Mythril curled up in disappointment and disappeared again to the back of my mind.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” I exhaled, the bowl of oatmeal resting on my lap.

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m used to it,” he replied.

His voice sounded weary, though he claimed he was used to Harlow’s temper. He sat back down in front of me, calm as ever, slipping a cigarette between his lips. I took the spoon of some porridge into my mouth.

“I just...