"Charles!"
Augustine's voice rang out, sharp and commanding which instantly draw the attention of everyone in the room.
Conversations died down, and the murmurs of speculation came to a halt as all eyes turned toward him.
His sudden appearance left the cleaners stunned—none of them had expected him to be here.
Yet, Augustine paid no mind to their stares.
His gaze was fixed solely on Charles, his usual composed expression replaced with something far more intense—concern, urgency, and a flicker of something deeper.
Augustine's chest tightened at the sight before him—Charles, barely standing, his face pale, beads of sweat clinging to his skin, and blood still trickling from his nose.
"Charles," Augustine breathed, his voice laced with panick as his left hand gripped Charles's shoulder, steadying him.
With his right hand, he gently lifted Charles's chin, tilting his face up to meet his gaze.
