On the seventh day of their silence, Ardyn finally feels well enough to eat. The week has weighed wearily on his mind and even worse on his appetite. Every meal has been a struggle against the nausea that twisted his stomach with a painful ache.
"Must be pretty bad," Prince muses, languidly relaxed in the register chair. "You must've done something to really piss Emery off."
Ardyn, leaning against the counter, watches Damian pause in his task of counting the register. Damian's head raises in annoyance. He points an accusing finger at Prince. "I can't deal with you tonight." His finger shifts toward the door. "Get out."
"What is this?" says Prince, turning to Ardyn. "This fourth day he's closed with us?"
"Inventory," Ardyn replies, just as Damian does.
The synchronization brings a supp
