Was sacrifice a necessary step to move forward? And if so, why must pain accompany what is deemed the right course of action? Why must a vast ocean of emotions become conflicted over a singular loss? These were the questions that arose on the day you lost your parents. Even now, you have no idea why anyone would target people like them. To your knowledge, they were just ordinary individuals who kept you safe. Yet, they were never very open about where they went behind closed doors. Perhaps there was something they lacked the courage to share with you while they were still alive. This thought made you angry, despite your love for them—angry that they couldn't even trust their own child. As conflicting as that feeling is, you have fortunately never felt the need to seek revenge against them over the matter, because what good would it do now when you are the only one left?

Whether for better or for worse, that solitude did not last very long. A reassuring hand extended toward your obscured, tearful face, and once your trembling hand made the acquaintance of the stranger's touch, life took a grim turn from then on.

Your boss's office was desolate, containing only the basic necessities that define an office: a few chairs, a desk, and a disorganized collection of paperwork and pens. You had grown accustomed to the silence until the sound of footsteps disrupted your trance. That alone made you straighten your posture, already knowing who was entering.

It was none other than your boss, holding two steaming cups of tea in his hands.

"We really need to fix those tea makers, don't you agree?" he asks, acting as if he were an old childhood friend familiar with your presence. "They take much longer than they used to."

He takes a seat in the chair opposite you and gently passes one of the beverages across the desk that separates you both.

"Have you taken a liking to your new job yet?" He abruptly inquires, tilting his head with a curious smirk.

You can only suppress your disgust.