Leaving home is never easy.
Especially when home is someone like Kana.
I had to beg—really beg—just to walk out the door.
She's always been like that. Kind to a fault. The kind of kind that makes you feel guilty just for breathing too loud. She's raised me since I can remember. Kept me fed, warm, stubborn, and safe.
Too safe.
When I told her I was leaving, she said nothing for a while. Then she went straight to the refrigerator and started packing everything.
Frozen meat. Fruit. Soup. Even the little tins she saves for winter.
"All of it?" I asked.
She nodded without looking at me. "You'll need it."
"Kana… I'm not taking your whole food supply."
"You'll need it," she said again, like that made it final.
And that's how the argument started. A quiet one. The kind where love makes every word feel heavier than it should.
"I'll take half," I told her. "That's fair."
She refused.
I insisted.
Back and forth. Her eyes got glassy. My voice got tight. Until finally—after thirty long minutes—she gave in. Not because she agreed… but because she loved me enough to let me go.
She packed the food into my sack with shaking hands and kissed the top of my head. "If anything happens," she whispered, "you come back."
I didn't promise. I couldn't.
I grabbed the oars—if you could even call them oars—and pushed off from the dock.
Then I heard her.
Kana. Running. Her voice breaking.
"Damien! I love you! You be safe, understand? Find him. Find what you're looking for."
My heart dropped straight into my stomach.
Something rose in my throat. Tight. Heavy.
I swallowed it back down.
Lifted my hand. Waved goodbye.
She deserved that much.
The mayor waved too.
But him?
I couldn't care less.