Malik sat on a crusty old bench, legs stretched out, arms draped along the back, head tilted just enough to make it look like he was relaxed. Taking in the view. But no. He wasn't admiring the Shams.
He was staring at Faqir.
Hard.
Burning a damn hole into the side of the man's head.
Meanwhile, Faqir just kept his eyes glued to the horizon, acting like it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen. Like if he looked anywhere else, the world might fall apart.
So, of course, the silence got heavy.
Not awkward, but again, heavy.
A match between the two, waiting on who'd crack first.
And sure enough, Malik gave in.
He let out this long breath, leaned forward just a little, and asked:
"You ever think about choices?"
Faqir chuckled, but not like it was funny. More like it was stupid and painful.
"All the time... I'm too old not to."
Malik didn't smile.
"I mean, like… ones that cut. End lives."
Faqir sighed through his teeth.
"Yeah. I've made a few of those."
"Hm."
