Well, as silences go, this one certainly qualifies as pointed. No improvement, then. He has to suppress a grimace as he bends to give the cat a brief scratch, bolstering himself to follow Martin into the kitchen. The way he finds him staring at the kettle isn't necessarily unusual, but Martin's tone is far from friendly when he asks after Norah.

"Fine," John answers after a beat of hesitation. He could elaborate, but it's not as if Martin is radiating sincere interest. He watches him for a moment, brow furrowed, far from eager to get into... whatever this is... but increasingly at a loss as to how to avoid it, or if he even should. And what's the alternative? Waiting for Martin to thaw on his own time? Or waiting for Martin to snap?

"She asked how you were," he says. Admittedly, she'd done so with only a little more enthusiasm than Martin has displayed, but that's not the point. Fixing him with a level look, John adds, "I wasn't sure what to tell her."