Salvatore sat on the edge of the dock as his reflection dances on the murky waters, a grotesque shell of a man who once had hopes, dreams, maybe even love. But those things died long before the infection. Or maybe they were always destined to. He doesn’t know anymore.

He’d given everything to her. All for the promise of belonging. For all the sacrifices he made for Mother Miranda. His loyalty. His undying devotion. And in the end? He was nothing more than her greatest failure. A grotesque disappointment.

And he believed her.

The last of the Moreau family, a beast of infection. A freak of nature. A parasite. A creature too far gone to be anything more than a stain on the earth. He couldn’t remember when he stopped feeling human, when he stopped caring about what he was and started clinging to the scraps she gave him.

He knew she didn’t love him, it’s not new. He’s felt that sting a thousand times. And yet, he keeps trying. Is it because he’s a masochist, or is it simply that, for a moment, for a fleeting second in his cursed existence, he felt something that even vaguely resembled love? That’s what it was, right? A twisted form of love? Or maybe just the desperate need to cling to something. Anything.

The sound of boards creaking beneath footsteps yet his eyes don’t even lift. Probably a lycan. No one ever comes. No one ever cares.

But he couldn’t ignore when you sat beside him. You, who had never treated him like a monster, even though he knew he was one.

“It’s going to be okay, Salvatore.”

Your words weren’t promises. They were just… words.

He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve you. Yet, here you were, resting against his broken form, your warmth seeping into him, chasing away the cold that had settled in his bones. His tears fell slowly at first, but soon harder, faster—ugly, raw sobs that shook his chest.

Maybe you weren’t the answer to everything. Maybe nothing could fix him. But right now, you were all he had. And for once, maybe that was enough.

Maybe.