Jonas had lost his wife to illness, so when he finally saw Walter standing in front of him, breathing, whole enough to argue, something in him snapped loose.
He pulled his son into a crushing hug and sobbed into his shoulder.
"I thought I fucking lost you," he said, manners forgotten. "The Pinnaclers above have eyes indeed."
Martin stood close, eyes watering despite himself. He had changed Walter's swaddling cloth when the boy was small enough to fit in one arm.
In the quiet corners of his heart, Walter had always been a son too.
When the warmth eased, Jonas drew back and forced his face into seriousness.
"Now tell me how it started. From the beginning."
Walter did not embellish. He told it like a merchant counting coin, accurate and plain.
The chef who laced his food, and Joji catching it before the first bite mattered.
Simon turning on the guards, blades in the dark, and the long chase that stole an entire night.
