The sun was already up, casting golden rays through the tall arched windows of the orphanage's dining hall. A soft buzz of chatter and laughter filled the space as the children finished their breakfast under the gentle guidance of the nuns. At one of the long wooden tables near the back, Marcus, Garron, Laziel, Clara, and Charlotte sat waiting—talking casually, though a slight air of anticipation lingered.
Fifteen minutes later, Noel walked in.
His steps were calm, steady. He wore a loose black shirt tucked into fitted black pants, the sleeves slightly rolled up. His damp blond hair was still tousled from the shower, and he had traded his usual gear for simple but clean black boots.
Without a word, he pulled out the empty chair beside Marcus and sat down.
"Morning," Noel said, voice low but composed.
Marcus turned toward him. "Morning… You good?"
