Adrien had expected pity.
Instead, she looked at him with simple concern.
“Are you all right?”
He had been stabbed twice, shot once, and betrayed by people who had sworn loyalty on their children’s lives. No one had asked him that question with such sincerity in years.
“I’m fine,” he said.
His voice sounded rough even to him.
Mabel studied the torn shoulder of his coat, then glanced toward the restaurant.
“Wait here.”
She returned minutes later with a cup of coffee and a warm loaf wrapped in a paper napkin.
“I paid for these,” she said quickly, as though afraid he might think she had stolen them. “So nobody can complain.”
Adrien accepted the food.
The coffee warmed his hands. The bread smelled of butter and rosemary.
He had eaten dinners prepared by celebrated chefs and served on private islands. Nothing had ever felt as valuable as that loaf.
“You should have kept your money,” he said.
“I’ll survive without lunch.”
The statement was offered lightly, but Adrien heard the truth beneath it.
She had given him food she could not easily afford.
“Why?” he asked.
Her brow furrowed. “Why what?”
“Why defend me?”
“Because they were wrong.”
“You could lose your job.”
“Then I’ll know I lost it while remembering I was still human.”
She gave him a tired smile and walked back inside.
Adrien remained beside the wall long after the coffee had cooled.
