By the time the last prayer faded and the final handfuls of soil were thrown, the sky had turned a dull shade of grey. People began leaving in small groups, their whispers low, their footsteps careful, as if afraid to disturb the quiet that had settled over the graveyard. Some of them touched Kai's shoulder gently before walking away. Some murmured things about fate and patience and strength. He nodded to each of them, not really hearing what they were saying.
He stood still as the crowd thinned. The small mound of freshly turned earth in front of him looked unreal. It was too small. Too ordinary. Just soil. Just a raised patch of ground among many others. If someone didn't know, they would walk past it without thinking. But beneath it, His fingers twitched slightly at his sides.
Alina remained a few steps behind him. She hadn't spoken in a long time. She had cried quietly through the burial, her tears falling without restraint, but now even she had gone silent. She watched him carefully, afraid that if she touched him, he might either shatter or walk away and never come back.
Eventually, the graveyard emptied. The wind moved gently through the trees, carrying the faint scent of damp earth. Somewhere in the distance, a gate creaked shut. It was just the two of them now. Kai still hadn't moved. His eyes were fixed on the soil as if he were trying to see through it.
Anya hated getting dirty. He remembered that suddenly. She would wrinkle her nose dramatically whenever the nurses tried to clean her scraped knees. "It smells like medicine," she used to complain. She always insisted on holding the tissue herself, as if that gave her control over the pain. He swallowed.
The soil in front of him was still loose, darker than the ground around it. It hadn't settled yet. It looked fragile. Temporary. As if it could be undone. Without saying anything, Kai slowly bent down. Alina's breath caught softly behind him.
He lowered himself to his knees in front of the grave, the movement controlled, almost careful. His hands hovered in the air for a moment before finally reaching forward. His fingers pressed lightly into the fresh soil. It was cool and grainy against his skin.
He ran his fingertips over it slowly, almost gently, as if he were touching something breakable. There was no hesitation in his movement, no disgust, no fear. He touched it the way someone would touch silk or glass — something precious, something irreplaceable.
His breathing grew uneven, but he didn't seem to notice. This is where she is, his mind whispered under this. His hand pressed a little deeper into the earth, feeling the texture between his fingers. Small particles clung to his skin. He didn't brush them away. Instead, he traced the surface of the mound carefully, smoothing a small uneven part as if he were fixing her blanket again.
He remembered how small her hand felt inside his. How her fingers barely wrapped around his thumb. How she used to tap his wrist impatiently whenever he pretended not to listen to her stories. How she would look up at him with complete trust in her eyes, as if he could protect her from anything.
He had told her storms always passed. He had told her he wouldn't let anything happen. Now she was beneath a layer of earth, and he was kneeling in front of it, unable to move.
Alina stepped forward slightly. "Kai…" she whispered, her voice trembling.
He didn't look back. His thumb rubbed gently over the soil again, back and forth, back and forth, like he was memorizing it. Like he was trying to feel her through it. The gesture was so tender that it hurt to watch.
"She was scared of being alone," he said quietly. His voice was steady, but thinner than before.
"She used to ask me to stay until she fell asleep." The wind lifted a few strands of his hair across his forehead. He didn't react.
His shoulders were rigid, but his head was slightly bowed, eyes locked on the ground. There were still no tears. His face remained composed, almost eerily calm. But his fingers kept moving over the soil, smoothing it, pressing it gently, as if reassuring something beneath it.
"I'm here," he murmured, so softly that Alina almost didn't hear it.
It wasn't for her. It was for the little girl beneath it. His hand finally stilled, resting flat against the soil. He kept it there, palm pressed down completely now, like he was trying to bridge the distance between them. His breathing hitched once — barely noticeable — and then steadied again.
Alina's tears fell silently behind him. She had never seen him in such a state; he wasn't gripped by anger, nor was he shattered or screaming in a display of grief. Instead, he possessed a terrifying, hollow stillness that was far more unsettling than any emotional outburst. There was no visible collapse or outward sign of the turmoil within, leaving him looking like a stranger she didn't recognize.
Just kneeling in front of a grave, touching fresh earth as if it were the most valuable thing in the world. Minutes passed. Maybe longer. The sky darkened slowly above them.
"Kai," she said again, softer this time. "Let's go."
He didn't answer. His hand remained on the soil. As if leaving meant accepting that this was permanent. As if standing up meant walking away from the last place where she still existed. And he wasn't ready to walk away. Not yet. Not from the only piece of her he could still touch.
She had been watching him carefully, sensing how thin the line was between stillness and collapse. That was when she noticed the two figures near the iron gate.
A cameraman stood uncertainly beside a young reporter who was speaking in a low but excited tone. The cameraman's posture was uneasy, shifting his weight from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with what the reporter was suggesting. The reporter, however, looked determined. His eyes were fixed on Kai. He had already taken out his phone, lifting it subtly to capture footage.
He looked at Kai, then at the grave, and something opportunistic flashed across his expression. He lifted his phone first. Then gestured for the cameraman.
The cameraman immediately shook his head. "No. Not him," he whispered urgently. "You don't know who that is."
"I know exactly who he is," the reporter muttered, zooming in slightly.
"You don't," the cameraman insisted. "Kai Arden doesn't tolerate this. His personal space— no one crosses that. The whole industry knows."
The reporter scoffed. "That's an intimidation myth. He's just an actor."
The cameraman stepped back. "You handle it. I'm not getting involved." And with that, he stepped back entirely, shaking his head before walking away. He did not want to be part of what was about to happen.
The reporter hesitated only for a second before walking toward Kai, phone raised discreetly, capturing the kneeling figure beside the grave.
Alina saw it. Her body went still. Then something inside her shifted. She didn't rush. She didn't shout. She walked forward slowly, her shoes steady against the gravel, eyes sharp and unblinking.
He approached until he was only a few steps away from Kai. "Sir," he called out, attempting a professional tone, "would you like to tell us why you're here today?"
Kai did not move. He did not turn. He did not react. He might as well not have heard anything at all. Alina stepped forward immediately, positioning herself between the reporter and Kai. Her expression had changed completely. The quiet sorrow she had carried moments ago was gone. In its place was something sharp and unwavering.
"You need to leave," she said evenly.
The reporter frowned. "Ma'am, we're simply doing our job. The public—"
"The public does not own him," she interrupted, her voice firm but controlled. "And you do not have the right to record him without his consent."
He lifted the phone slightly. "He's a public figure. We're allowed to—"
"No," she cut in, her tone colder now. "You are not allowed to invade someone's privacy. You are not allowed to show up uninvited and demand explanations. And you are certainly not allowed to record without permission."
The reporter shifted, clearly irritated. "We're not trespassing. This is a public place."
"That does not make his personal moment public property," she replied. "You are crossing a line you clearly don't understand."
He scoffed lightly. "It's just footage. Why are you overreacting?"
The word just was enough. Alina stepped closer, and without another warning, she struck him across the face. The sound echoed sharply in the empty graveyard. It wasn't a hesitant slap. It was deliberate. Strong. Enough to turn his head sideways.
He stumbled back in shock, clutching his cheek. "Are you insane?" he snapped.
She stepped forward again, fearless, her eyes blazing. "Listen carefully," she said, her voice low and steady. "You will delete whatever you recorded. You will walk out of here. And you will never point a camera at him without permission again."
"You can't hit me!" he shouted, anger rising to cover his embarrassment.
"I just did," she replied calmly.
He raised his voice further, threatening legal action, accusing her of assault, but she did not flinch. If anything, she looked more dangerous in her silence. Before he could escalate further, Ryan arrived, having seen enough from a distance to understand what was happening.
Ryan stepped between them immediately, his expression hard. "Is there a problem?" he asked, though his tone made it clear he already knew the answer.
The reporter began complaining loudly about being attacked, about freedom of the press, about rights. Ryan listened without interruption, then calmly asked to see the footage. The reporter hesitated but eventually handed over the phone, perhaps intimidated by Ryan's steady authority.
Ryan watched as the files were deleted under his supervision. "You're new here," Ryan said quietly. "That's the only reason this ends with a warning."
The reporter glared but said nothing further. His earlier confidence had dissolved. He turned and walked away quickly, not daring to argue anymore.
Through all of this, Kai had not moved. He had not looked up. He had not even realized what had happened. He was still kneeling, still touching the soil, lost in a silence so deep it shut out everything else.
Alina's expression softened instantly as she turned back to him. She crouched beside him carefully, not touching him at first. Ryan joined her on the other side. Together, they gently pulled his hand away from the earth. Soil clung to his fingers, and he stared at it vaguely, as though he had forgotten how it got there.
"Kai," Ryan said softly. "Let's go."
There was no resistance. No protest. Kai allowed them to help him stand. His body moved when guided, but there was no strength behind it. He did not look back at the grave as they walked him toward the exit.
Alina stayed close, one hand lightly gripping his arm to steady him. Ryan walked on the other side, protective and silent.
As they reached the car, Ryan glanced back toward the gate where the reporter had disappeared. His jaw tightened.
"I'll dig into him," Ryan said quietly to Alina once Kai was seated inside. "I want to know who transferred him and who thought this was acceptable."
Alina nodded once, her expression still fierce despite the tears that had dried on her face.
Inside the car, Kai stared ahead, hands resting limply on his knees, unaware of the storm that had nearly broken around him. And for the first time that evening, he was not the one protecting everyone else. They were protecting him.