I knock on the door—once.
No answer.
I knock again, slower this time, my knuckles brushing old wood.
Still nothing.
Maybe Angel is resting.
Maybe he's asleep.
But how can I be sure he's alright? He didn't even eat anything.
But the thought doesn't settle my chest.
It's midnight. The staff apartments are quiet, the hallway dim and cold. I stand there holding a small cake box in one hand and a paper bag of heat suppressants in the other. The warmth from the cake has already begun to fade.
He didn't eat.
That thought won't leave me alone.
I knock a third time.
Silence.
A shiver runs down my spine. I turn slightly, telling myself I should leave—but then—
"…Who's there…?"
The voice is weak. Trembling. Barely there.
I step back to the door instantly.
"Angel… it's me. Zyren. Are you okay?"
There's a pause. Too long.
"Y-Young Master…" His voice cracks. "What… are you doing here?"
"I was worried," I say honestly. "You didn't eat anything."
