Kenjiro watched the dramatic exit, a smug sense of victory washing over him. He had won. He had exposed the jerk, completed the deal, and secured a powerful new ally. He calmly took another sip of water, waiting.
A few minutes later, Seraphina returned. The fiery rage was gone, replaced by a profound, soul-deep sadness. Her shoulders were slumped, and she looked utterly defeated. For the first time, Kenjiro saw past the icy priestess to the heartbroken woman underneath. He felt a pang of something unfamiliar—empathy. He didn't even think of making a joke.
She walked slowly to his table. "Is... is this seat taken?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Kenjiro just shook his head. She sank into the chair opposite him and rested her head on the table, her blonde hair spilling across the polished wood. He had never seen her look so vulnerable.
"Forget him," Kenjiro said, his voice surprisingly gentle. "He doesn't deserve you."
