The road home felt longer than usual. Each step carried the weight of his mother's words, her presence still lingering like perfume in the back of his throat.
His thoughts echoed with every step — his mother's voice still fresh, the weight of her request pressing on his chest.
By the time he reached the gate, the sun had lowered, casting a warm hue over the house.
He paused for a moment, exhaling through his nose before stepping inside.
The faint clatter of a pot in the kitchen drifted from within. Mr. Dand's soft humming accompanied it, low and tuneless.
The air was laced with the scent of simmering soup and herbs.
In the small main room, Artur was standing by the window, arms crossed. He turned the moment Billy stepped in, eyes scanning his face for a sign — of anything.
Billy offered a weak smile.
"Hey," he said quietly, stepping out of his shoes.
Artur met him halfway. "You okay?"
