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He studied my face. Long enough to notice everything. But not long enough to make me uncomfortable.
“You’ve eaten?”
I blinked. “… No.”
He nodded once. “C’mon.”
No questions. No interrogation. He simply turned and walked. I followed him through a door at the back of the gym. The noise softened behind us.
His office wasn’t much bigger than a storage room. Old timber desk. Two mismatched chairs. A kettle. Coffee mugs. Stacks of boxing journals. Framed photographs covered one wall.
Champions.
Kids.
Families.
People smiling with bruised faces.
Guild filled the kettle. “I’ve got coffee.” He looked over his shoulder. “And toast.”
Despite everything…
A laugh escaped me.
He smiled. Only a little. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
The kettle clicked on. Silence settled between us. Not awkward. Patient. Guilt didn’t fill it.
He waited.
Because somehow…
He already knew I’d speak when I was ready.
But I didn’t.
I simply watched. He poured steaming water into two chipped mugs before dropping bread into an ancient toaster.
Sugar.
Milk.
He never asked.
He already knew.
Didn’t he?
Some people listened with their ears. Guild listened with his heart.
He knew me.
Just as he knew all of us.
I studied him.
The lines at the corner of his eyes. The hard edges of his jaw. The quiet strength he never seemed to notice he carried.
