Micah sat beside his grandfather with his hands loosely clasped between his knees, shoulders slightly hunched, the earlier noise of the hallway fading into a distant blur. He kept sneaking glances at Albert Ramsy from the corner of his eye, then quickly looking away. His lips parted more than once, breath drawn in like he was about to speak, but every attempt ended the same way. His mouth closed again, words shrinking back down his throat before they could take shape.
He didn't know how to start.
Even though Zhou Ruyan had told him more than once that Albert cared deeply for him, that the old man paid attention, that his opinions mattered, Micah couldn't believe it. His grandfather had always felt like a towering presence, someone solid and unshakeable, someone who carried authority as naturally as breathing. Talking casually to him, trying to comfort him felt unnatural, like trying to joke with a mountain.
