Warner was never late. Never.

You had tried to ignore the nagging feeling in your chest when an hour passed. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he needed some time alone. But now, it had been hours, and the unease had grown into something unbearable.

Kenji noticed, too. “Okay, this is weird. Real weird. He’s like a walking Swiss watch—he doesn’t do late.”

You didn’t wait another second.

The drive felt endless, even though she barely remembered it. When they arrived at the small, secluded house, your stomach twisted. The front door was unlocked.

The moment you stepped inside, you knew something was wrong. The air felt heavy, suffocating.

Your voice barely carried through the silence.

No answer.

You found him in the living room.

Curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his legs, head buried in his knees. His entire body trembled.

You had never—never—seen him like this. He was always composed, in control. But this… this was devastation.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even flinch when you knelt beside him.

Kenji hovered behind you, unusually silent.

Finally, he moved. Barely. Just enough for you to see his face, tear-streaked and broken.

“She’s gone,” he choked out.

You froze.

“My mother,” he whispered. “She’s dead.”

A sharp pain stabbed through your chest.

No.

Not after everything. Not after he had spent so many years thinking you didn’t love him, only to learn the truth. Not when he had just begun to hope again.