The streets were eerily quiet, reflecting the heaviness in the air. As you walked, you spotted someone familiar—Keigo.

You almost didn’t recognize him. His wings were gone, and he walked with his head down, hair casting shadows over his tired face.

“Keigo!” you called, quickening your pace.

He stopped, startled. When he turned around, the exhaustion was unmistakable. His golden eyes, usually sharp and full of life, seemed dulled, carrying a weight too heavy to ignore.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice flat.

“You okay?” you asked. “You don’t look like yourself.”

He gave a dry laugh, shrugging. “Yeah, well, I’m not.”

You stepped closer, concern growing. “What happened?”

“I went to see my mom,” he admitted, hesitating.

Your chest tightened—you knew his history. “And?”

“She hasn’t changed,” he muttered. “Still looks at me like I’m a stranger. Or worse… him.”

There was no need to ask who “him” was. Keigo’s resemblance to his father had always haunted him, but hearing it from his mother? That was a wound no one could prepare for.

“She told me I look like my dad,” he added, his voice cracking before he forced a laugh. “The last thing she said before I left.”

“Keigo…”

“I’m not angry,” he interrupted softly. “I’m just… tired.”

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you. Keigo looked away, his gaze distant, as though he was somewhere far from the streets you stood on.