Bright light filled every corner of the tiny camp apartment.
Damian set the silver-haired boy down, having carried him in under his arm.
The boy still clutched two bottles of nutrient solution, messy hair hanging over his face.
Wide-eyed, he stared at the stranger, too shaken to understand what had just happened.
Moments ago he had snatched those bottles—only to be chased as always by the gang of thugs who hunted him daily. Taller, stronger, ready to take everything from him. He thought it would end the same way: food stolen, body beaten bloody.
Then this man had appeared out of nowhere.
A blur of fists, thugs crumpling one by one.
His terminal crushed in a single hand.
And before he could react, he'd been hoisted like a sack of rags and carried off.
Now here he was, dropped into a room blazing with light.
The boy barely reached Damian's chest. Thin as a stick, no more than fifteen or sixteen.
Damian crouched, lowering his voice as if coaxing a frightened animal.
"You're safe. No one will take those bottles from you. From now on… I'll give you everything you need."
He meant kindness. His gaze softened, almost fatherly.
The youth stiffened. Everything I need? The words rang with hidden menace.
He had heard too many stories of men who "took care" of strays. Facing this broad-shouldered warrior, gaze far too intent, fear spiked sharp in his chest.
His eyes… too strange. Too terrifying. He hugged himself tighter, chin buried against his knees.
Damian noticed nothing. Lost in his own thoughts, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out yesterday's bread, stiff and dry. If I warm it… even this single loaf could shape a better future.
The moment the bread appeared, gray eyes locked onto it. Hunger flared raw and wild.
In a blur the boy snatched it, bit down so hard the crust scraped his gums, gagged, then forced it down with a gulp of nutrient solution.
Damian watched, a strange satisfaction stirring.
He would give him food, give him safety. That alone could stop him from becoming the monster who once turned half the pure lands to dust.
The youth didn't stop until the loaf was gone. Then he curled up on the sofa, arms tight around himself, gray eyes fixed on Damian like a cornered animal.
At least he was full. If tomorrow was the same, maybe he could endure staying here a little longer.
Damian felt that unwavering gaze.It was clearly gratitude—maybe even dependence.
"Ratty," he said at last. "I'm Damian. Damian Cross."
His lips curved in satisfaction, chin lifting with easy confidence.Then, almost absently, he reached out and ruffled Ratty's hair."Don't thank me," Damian said with a small smile. "That's just who I am."