Leon walked down the hospital corridor, and there he was—the man they had been meaning to meet that night. He sat on a long bench, his head bowed, his right hand covering his face as if trying to hold himself together.
It was Maylon—the one behind the player Maylock.
Leon, Ronald, Freya, Laura, and Lily had arrived just as the devastating news had reached them.
Leon stepped closer to the man, whose profound, overwhelming grief seemed to seep into the very air around him.
It was etched into every line of his face, every slump of his posture.
Someone like Maylon, known for his sharp mind and unshakable composure, almost never showed his emotions. But not tonight.
Not this time.
He wept openly, his body shaking with every ragged breath. The raw, unrestrained sound of sorrow cut through the silence.
His anguish was so clear, it spoke louder than any words ever could.
