Gren had let the day wash over him in a daze. He should have cared more, and he knew it, but he felt as if he was just marking time here, especially during the daylight hours, when the facade of normality made everything just that much harder to bear.

He needed to fight it, but he felt so exhausted by it all, mentally and physically, and he found himself frequently wondering if it was worth it all. It wasn't as if he had any hope of going home--that was a dead end. And if all he wanted was to escape all of this, well. He had a knife, now. The means to free himself, awful as the option was, was there.

It was easy to stay wrapped up in his own misery, and walking into the room with his diner, seeing Edgar there, was almost like a slap in the face. He had been self-absorbed, recently, had managed to not really notice how bad off the other man seemed, though it was obvious now. He set his tray down, took his see, and sat quietly for a moment.

"Hey."

He wanted to ask, to broach the subject of what might have happened, but the dull ache of the bandaged wounds on his own chest reminded him that things happened here that people might not want to discuss, and he couldn't quite find the right words, in the end.