The last plate left the table.
Liam watched the waiter take it and move away without a word.
The table looked different without the food on it.
More exposed somehow. Just linen and candlelight and the precise arrangement of things on Stiles's side of it.
Stiles picked up his napkin from his lap.
He folded it once. Then again.
Then he set it down on the table at an angle that lined up with nothing in particular except whatever was in his own head.
He looked at the table after he put it down. His eyes moved across the surface slowly, checking.
A small ring had formed on the linen near where his glass had been.
He looked at it.
Then he raised one finger without looking up.
The waiter appeared from somewhere behind Liam, produced a cloth, blotted the spot clean in three precise movements, and was gone again. The whole thing took maybe five seconds.
Stiles watched until the spot was gone. Then he looked up.
