The door shut quietly behind him, sealing the room in its dim, evening silence. Trafalgar stood for a moment with his back to the wood, his eyes stinging, the tears finally breaking free. They slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.
Mayla turned from the window. Her brown eyes widened at the sight. In all her years with him—through tantrums, silence, and endless nights of sorrow—she had never seen him cry like this. She had always been the one to comfort him, to bear his burdens silently at his side.
"Young master…" she began, but her voice faltered.
Trafalgar moved before she could finish. His steps carried him across the room in a blur, his arms wrapping around her tightly. He buried his face into her shoulder, the words he might have spoken drowned out by the rush of emotion clawing up his chest.
