–Livana–
I never expected him to cry—nor to call me again as if I were a miracle he had summoned.
A soft chuckle escaped me as I crossed the space between us. I wrapped him in a brief embrace, patting his back in quick, grounding strokes, the way one steadies a trembling glass before it shatters. He stepped away, flustered, wiping his tears with the heel of his hand before bending to retrieve the empty container from the floor.
"I'm sorry," he sobbed.
Damon handed him a pack of tissues. "Man, don't cry. She's alive, alright?" His hand tightened around the man's shoulder. "You knew exactly what this meant." His tone carried warmth on the surface—yet beneath it, a blade gleamed, kind in delivery, unmistakably threatening in intent.
Chef Wally nodded, lips pressed tight.
From the moment he entered our orbit, I had been watching him. He passed every silent test. He never pried. Never whispered. Never betrayed.
