Two days later, the gates of Cross Mansion opened wide.

The car rolled in slowly.

Staff lined up instinctively, some clapping softly, others bowing their heads in relief.

“Welcome home, sir,” voices echoed.

Damian stepped out, thinner, paler but standing. Max stayed close, one hand hovering like Damian might vanish if left alone.

“Easy,” Max murmured. “One step at a time.”

Damian nodded and managed a weak smile.

Inside, Grandma Eleanor was already issuing orders.

“Something light,” she told the chef. “Soup. Nothing oily. And tea, not coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to Damian. “Dear, go freshen up and come downstairs. No excuses.”

“Yes, Grandma,” he replied quietly.

Upstairs, Max...