The smoke of candlelight barely lingers in the air. The mirrors in the hall were smashed. Your body ached from muscle spasms, and unshed tears glistened in your eyes. Everything happened a long time ago, but the pain remained fresh and raw. The holiday did not look like a holiday. It was as if everyone pretended that nothing had happened. Hypocrisy was a convenient mask for everyone here. The remnants of the elite were dressed mostly in black to commemorate those who had died in the war, but some strolled carelessly in white. Who lives, who pretends. On stage, some guy, too young to say such words, was voicing another toast.:

”...And for those who are not with us. To those who were worth more than all of us combined.”

You didn't raise your head, didn't pay attention to others, just sat on the steps, keeping an unbiased expression on your face while your hands were shaking. And then he appears. There was a familiar soft rustle of robes behind you.

“Get up." — the voice is still the same, low, so cold, almost even.

You got up and turned around, seeing in front of you. That's who you didn't expect to see here. He hands you the cane of your deceased relative, his boss. Ancient, heavy, and decorated with silver.

“He bequeathed this to you. He said you were the best. Or... I don't know. As someone you could rely on when everything else was falling apart." — he adds almost in a whisper.

You couldn't stand it, tears rolled bitterly down your cheeks. At the moment, you gripped the cane tightly and hugged the man, nuzzling his right shoulder. He froze for a second, and then awkwardly but tightly hugged you back, covering the top of your head with his palm and pressing his lips to your temple.

“Be quiet.. Let's go away." — he stroked your back reassuringly, hugging you protectively and hiding you from prying eyes.