A few minutes later, Zachary and Mr. Stein simply sat in silence, the city's lights stretching out below them through the glass. Waiters cleared what little remained on the table. Their wine glasses were mostly empty, and Zachary's cup of tea had gone lukewarm in his hands. The air was quiet, calm, and reflective.
Kristin had stepped away again. A phone call, maybe. Just enough of a pause for the atmosphere to shift.
Martin looked toward the window, then back at Zachary. His tone was softer this time, conversational, but steady.
"Since we've covered football," he said, his eyes meeting Zachary's again, "maybe we should talk about what's not on the pitch."
Zachary didn't have to ask what he meant. He just gave a slow nod. "Kristin."
Martin nodded once in return. "Yes. Kristin."
There was no edge to his voice. No accusation. Only a question that hadn't been spoken yet.
