The door clicked shut behind you.

Mori’s office was as cold as ever—dim lights, sterile silence, and the faint scent of antiseptic, like a hospital ward that had forgotten it was supposed to heal.

He sat behind his desk, gloved hands folded neatly, smile polite in a way that always made your skin crawl just a little.

But your eyes didn’t go to him. They went to Q.

He was curled near the corner of the room like a trapped animal, his sleeves pulled over trembling fists, face blotched red and wet with tears.

As soon as he saw you, his sobs hitched into full-blown crying.

“Please—” he gasped, his voice hoarse and cracking. “Please don’t tell them—don’t—please don’t tell them I messed up—”

He stumbled forward, nearly tripping on his own feet as he rushed toward you, grabbing onto the hem of your coat like it was a lifeline.

“I didn’t mean it—! I didn’t know—! I thought it was just a game—!”

You stared at him, stunned for half a second before instinct kicked in. You dropped to your knees.

Q slammed into you, arms clinging tight around your torso, shaking like he might break apart right there in your arms.

You held him—arms firm, steady, shielding. His sobs came in waves, muffled against your chest.

You looked up at Mori.

He was still smiling, head tilted just slightly in that disturbingly pleased way, like he was watching a play unfold exactly as he predicted.

“I thought it best to call you,” Mori said smoothly. “He responds…differently to you.” Differently.

Like a child who still thought someone in this place would love him enough to stay. Like someone who didn’t understand yet that in the Port Mafia, love was a luxury—and a dangerous one at that.

You held Q tighter. He gripped you like he didn’t know how to let go.

Mori stood. “He caused considerable damage. But I’ll leave his punishment in your hands. I’m curious to see how you handle it.”

Mori raised a brow, unbothered by the emotional collapse happening in front of him. Elise hummed a tune under her breath.

You didn’t answer. You just rose slowly, Q still clinging to you, his legs shaking too much to stand on his own.

You turned without another word and left the office, the boy pressed against your side like he was trying to crawl into your ribs to hide.

The door closed behind you, muffling Mori’s amused hum.

And you said nothing—not about the damage, not about the punishment, not about the pain clawing through your chest like guilt wrapped in barbed wire.