She moved toward him, her steps quiet but deliberate, her gaze filled with a mixture of anger and concern that only deepened as she closed the distance between them.
She reached out, her fingertips brushing along the bruised mark on his face. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if she feared causing him more pain. Yet her voice was steady, laced with a restrained fury, but not directed at him.
"Did she…?" Esme's voice was a whisper, but Ray could hear the tremor in it, the barely contained rage that simmered beneath. He nodded, his face still and unreadable, though his eyes flickered with a vulnerability he rarely showed.
Esme's fingers traced the bruise delicately, and then her touch turned firm as she held his face in her hands, searching his gaze. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion, "you should never have had to endure this."
