The cool afternoon air envelops us and, for a moment, we leave the weight of the past in the background. Even if just for a few minutes.
The silence stretches between us. It's not uncomfortable, but it's not peaceful either. It's the kind of loaded pause where each of us is immersed in our own thoughts, in our own versions of events.
Ryan taps his fingers against his knee, a gesture I know well: he's yielding, but not completely.
"When do you want to talk to her?" he finally asks.
I crossed my arms and looked up at the sky, as if I could find the answer there.
"Maybe in the afternoon tomorrow. I don't want her to feel like we're interrogating her or that there's something wrong with her."
He nods, though his jaw remains tense.
"Alright. We'll do it together."
"Good," I say, more to
