Fated to the full Moon.

Under the vast blue skies of East Africa, I see not only endless stretches of arid deserts and lush tropical grasslands but also a complex tapestry of unrest, tribal conflicts, and epidemics that have plagued the region for over a century. This land, with its breathtaking beauty, hides deep scars of suffering that challenge my resilience as a medical professional.

My white coat, once pristine, is now stained with a disturbing mixture of blood and dirt. It no longer resembles the angelic garments that symbolize hope and healing; instead, it conveys a silent plea for help, a stark reminder of the grim reality facing those who seek care.

A significant outbreak of the virus, a frightening variant of the Ebola virus, is currently sweeping through East Africa. Dedicated teams from Doctors without Borders are valiantly battling the epidemic on this unforgiving terrain, but the situation remains dire. The saying goes that a clever woman can't cook without fire, and here, the lack of medical resources and supplies proves just as crippling. Essential medications are not just hard to find-they are prohibitively expensive. The local government, grappling with its own limitations, simply cannot afford the life-saving treatments. While MSF has managed to provide some medications, it remains but a drop in the ocean of need.

As a doctor, I face an unbearable reality: I must watch countless patients infected with the virus struggle on the precipice of life and death, their hopes extinguished by the absence of effective medicine. This profound sorrow weighs heavily on my conscience, a stark reminder of my limitations in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Leaning against a weathered wooden post, I gaze up at the stars twinkling above the East African night sky. Suddenly, a bittersweet smile spreads across my face as I turn to Edward, who stands quietly behind me. "You know what?" I say, my voice laced with a mixture of determination and despair. "This is the second time I've felt this level of helplessness, even as a doctor."

Edward immediately understands that I'm referencing the last time we faced such despair, recalling the man named Jared and the indescribable bond we shared. In that moment, all he can do is sigh deeply, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and giving it a reassuring shake.

I pat his shoulder in return, signalling that I'm okay, and continue, "We can't go on like this. Without the necessary medicine, we might as well be immortals standing idly by-unable to save anyone."

"Matthew has gone to coordinate with the organization. He should be able to secure some funding and local government subsidies. With a bit of luck, we might gather enough resources, but those specific drugs are truly exorbitant," Edward responds, his brow furrowed with concern.

At that moment, a frail old man approaches and waves to us, his movement's slow but determined. I hop off the railing and enter Matthew's modest tent, Edward following closely behind.

"It has been approved; the government funds should be allocated within a week. Rickie, you will leave tomorrow to purchase the much-needed medicines," Matthew announces, handing us the approval documents with a sense of urgency.

"I understand that most specific drugs are manufactured in Ascot Ridge, but their prices are shockingly high. Even if we place a large order, it's challenging to negotiate lower costs when demand is so critical," I express my concerns, my voice tinged with frustration. Matthew sighs, nodding in agreement.

"We'll head to Ascot Ridge first. The number of patients here is overwhelming, and without those specific drugs, we can't treat them effectively. While alternative medications might not provide immediate results, they can help manage the progression of the disease. If we encounter obstacles in Ascot Ridge, we may need to explore options back in Freedonia," the old professor, wise and weathered, suggests his tone firm yet compassionate.

Without wasting any time, I return to my tent, eager to prepare for the journey ahead. I start sorting through my belongings, realizing with a pang of sadness that I have little to take with me-just the portable inspection instrument I always carry and a single, worn pair of jeans. The conditions here are appalling, and in my effort to help the local residents, I have given away many of my possessions, leaving me with only a small backpack.

Determined to make the most of my resources, I purchase a plane ticket to Ascot Ridge, and send a message to William and a few friends before boarding the flight. "My plane will arrive tomorrow," I text, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

The response comes swiftly: "I finally know you're back! Come directly to me-John is here too." A smile spreads across my face at the mention of John, a friend I have missed dearly. I quickly send another message: "Let's meet for a drink."

After tucking my phone away, I prepare for the long flight ahead-more than ten hours in the air, each minute filled with thoughts of the work awaiting me. Upon landing, I head straight to an ATM, retrieve a card from my wallet, and check my balance, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the figure displayed. After graduation, I and a few colleagues established an offshore medical institution abroad, catering to the middle and upper classes. Although my income could not compete with that of larger companies, it was sufficient for my needs, and I planned to allocate most of it to purchase essential medicines.

As I put the card away, I notice another black gold card tucked in my wallet. I know that the funds in it are many times greater than those in my own card, but I hesitate to use it. That card represents the monthly financial support from Azriel, a friend who has always been there for me. With a deep breath, I dismiss the thought and secure my wallet, taking a taxi to William's villa.

Meanwhile, in an antique courtyard in Z country, a man wearing a dark gray sweater sits on a low couch by the floor-to-ceiling window. His handsome face appears gaunt, too thin from the burdens he carries. A blanket of the same colour covers his legs, providing some comfort as he gazes quietly at the snow falling outside. The tea simmering on the stove nearby emits a soothing sound, a small moment of peace in his otherwise troubled mind.

"Little guy, you've encountered difficulties," Azriel murmurs to himself, having just hung up the phone. The fine lines etched around his eyes and the frost in his hair reveal a life well-lived, yet heavy with responsibility. After a moment of reflection, he picks up the phone again and dials a familiar number. "Torry will you have time tomorrow to come to my place and catch up?" he asks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

He leisurely pours the brewed tea into a delicate porcelain cup, the warm aroma enveloping him.

"Azriel, if you invite me, I'll make time. I really miss your big red robe tea," a bright male voice replies from the other end, filling Azriel with a sense of nostalgia.

"I'm no longer Azriel," he responds with a soft laugh, a hint of playful banter. "Don't worry; big red robe tea is ready for you."

Rickie took a taxi to William's residence. When it came to living in Ascot Ridge, he was more familiar with it than William was. William had been living in Freedonia for two years and rarely returned to Ascot Ridge except for necessary matters. However, he often travelled to Ascot Ridge for work at the headquarters, so he simply stayed with Rickie during those times.

The usually quiet villa was lively with activity. John greeted him with a warm hug. In the room, aside from John and William, there were two others whom Rickie presumed were their boyfriends.

Thinking of "boyfriend" made Rickie's mind drift back to another man-a man he had cared for deeply. If it hadn't been for the changes that occurred four years ago, he would have already confessed his feelings to Jared.

Jared, Jared.

Unable to shake off the memories, Rickie took out the notebook he always carried. He opened his email app and sent out a message, addressing it to Jared. In the past, he had sent 307 emails, all lying unanswered in his inbox. But he wasn't discouraged. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he typed:

"Jared, I want you to know that I've arrived in Ascot Ridge, and tomorrow I'll be negotiating with the pharmaceutical companies here. If they refuse to lower their prices, I might have to return to Freedonia for a solution. Please pray for me and hope they offer a better deal."

In the background, a small figure folded his hands in prayer.

That evening, the five of them gathered in the yard for a barbecue. Rickie, dressed in worn jeans, held a skewer in one hand, his mouth smeared with oil, he looked like a weary migrant worker.

"I have to ask, why are you dressed like that? Did you go bankrupt?" John laughed when he saw Rickie's state.

"Not far off," Rickie replied with a grin. "I donated everything I earned over the past two years."

"What happened? What brings you back this time?" John inquired, surprised.

"The virus is rampant in East Africa. I'm here to purchase medicines. The specific drugs are far too expensive, so I came to negotiate directly with the suppliers in Ascot Ridge. You know the saying: the price is either exorbitant or unreachable. Maybe you should consider donating some funds?" Rickie said, a mischievous smile on his face. He knew well that negotiating prices in Ascot Ridge would be a challenge.

"The specific drugs here are likely to be quite expensive. Your demand is large and urgent, and I fear it will be tough for them to reduce prices," John replied, his expression serious. "Generic drugs have been doing well in Freedonia over the past two years. If you can't succeed here, maybe try back in Freedonia. I happen to know someone who is in charge of a pharmaceutical company. If you need help, I can contact him. Just give me the details, and I'll make a donation."

Rickie looked at John, who seemed both weak and beautiful, and took his hand. "Where did you find a rich person with such a generous heart?"

John playfully swatted Rickie's hand away. "Speak normally; no need to be so touchy."

That night, Rickie watched as the two couples around him flirted and expressed their affection for one another, while he sat alone, nursing his drink.

Having spent so long in Africa, he found no liquor from Z country and had no opportunity to drink red wine. However, he had certainly developed a tolerance for beer.

As the empty cans accumulated around him, he felt an overwhelming sense of longing. He thought he could almost see the person he wanted to see most, but it was also the person he feared facing the most.

"Rickie wants to live. Ahem, this is my birthday wish," came a voice, hoarse and bloody, struggling to touch his face before finally slipping away.

In the chaos of an armed conflict, a factory became the site of devastation. After an initial explosion, rescue teams rushed in, only to be met with a second blast. As panic erupted, a mob stormed inside, opening fire indiscriminately. Jared instinctively shielded Rickie with his body, the overwhelming heat wave from the explosion nearly suffocating them. Just before Rickie lost consciousness, he heard Jared's gentle, reassuring voice.

Rickie awoke, groggy and disoriented. John, noticing his state, offered to help him back to the house. Rickie shrugged him off and forced a smile. "I helped you achieve your dreams. Why would I turn back now?"

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he smiled, then he took another swig of wine, appearing almost foolish to John. Eventually, John half-carried Rickie inside, realizing he was in no condition to stand on his own.

Clutching a can, Rickie mumbled to himself, "Alcohol is really a good thing. It brought me back to you."

The following morning, Rickie awoke with a splitting headache. Memories of the previous night flooded back, and he sighed. Now was not the time to dwell on the past. He splashed cold water on his face to refresh himself.

Fortunately, he had left a couple of suits at William's place during his earlier visits; otherwise, he would have been stuck negotiating in those shabby jeans.

"Hey, putting on a suit doesn't make you a fancy dog," Rickie teased as he stepped out, encountering John in the kitchen. John's comment about his appearance made Rickie roll his eyes.

"I don't have time for your nonsense. I need to wish my buddies good luck," Rickie replied, heading straight for the garage. He grabbed William's car and set off for the negotiation meeting.

Two hours later, after a long and tense discussion, Rickie emerged from the hotel, his suit jacket slung over his arm.

"How did it go?" John and Silas were waiting in the living room, eager for news.

"As expected, they're only willing to lower the price of the specific drugs by three percent. Our budget won't cover it. As for the generic drugs, there's really no need to buy them here in Ascot Ridge," Rickie said, sinking into the sofa with a sigh.

He turned to John and added, "I'll call the person in charge of the pharmaceutical company back in Freedonia. You can contact him directly when you return home."

Silas chimed in, "Thank you so much! When I get back, I'll make sure to apply for a certificate of merit."

Rickie chuckled. "You're a good guy, John. I'm glad you've found such a wonderful partner."

That evening, the group shared a meal together, a tradition Rickie had learned during his time with Doctors Without Borders. While the organization is known for its dedication and compassion, Rickie understood that his original motives weren't entirely noble; he sought a place to escape and find solace from a painful past.

However, after years spent in war-torn regions and areas affected by natural disasters, he had learned the true meaning of dedication. After five long years, he finally had a ticket to return to the city he once called home. Just thinking about the city brought back memories of Azriel, the man who had always wanted him to break free, who had the power to influence the world around him.

As he prepared to return, he realized how much had changed in such a bustling metropolis. When he got into a taxi, he didn't give the address of his childhood home but instead provided the name of a mid-range apartment complex he had purchased while in university. It wasn't large, but it was perfect for living alone.

Meanwhile, in Starlight Garden, an elegant man received a phone call. A look of confusion crossed his brow-part disappointment, part anticipation.

The day after I settled in, I called the number Silas had given me. Compared to the formal tone of Ascot Ridge, Torry's warm voice made me feel like I was finally home.

We arranged to meet at a farmhouse restaurant-Torry's choice. As I hung up the phone, unease settled in. Was Torry really so oblivious to the fact that I was an outsider? He called me "Rickie" without any formalities, and a casual meeting at a farmhouse felt strange-was it because he hadn't eaten in a while and wanted something comforting?

I decided to wear a black polo shirt with a jacket over it. Looking good, I thought.

After washing my car-one I had bought five years ago-I drove straight to the farmhouse, arriving fifteen minutes early to be polite.

To my surprise, as soon as I sat down, Torry walked in. The head of one of the top pharmaceutical companies in Freedonia looked younger than I had expected; he was in his early thirties, slightly overweight, but exuded warmth that immediately put me at ease. He seemed grounded, a far cry from the corporate giants I had anticipated. Yet, I knew better than to underestimate someone who had helped build a successful enterprise.

"Rickie, you came early," Torry said as he took a seat directly across from me.

"No, I just got here too," I replied.

"Have you ordered? Their chicken is delicious! I haven't been here in a while, and it's the perfect time for you to try it."

I felt a bit confused-this didn't seem like a business meeting but more like a friendly gathering.

"Well, I haven't been back to Freedonia for many years, and I do miss that chicken," I admitted.

"You mentioned your purchase plan at dusk. We're alumni; I'm two years older than you. Once you send me the list of medicines, I'll check if we have anything in common," he said, casually bridging our professional relationship.

I hadn't realized we shared such a connection. When the food arrived, Torry ordered some wine, dismissing the buyer-seller dynamic. Men's friendships often seemed simple: a pot of wine and a plate of peanuts could spark deep conversations.

As we shared the meal, Torry observed me closely. This man had drawn Azriel out of his reclusive life for nearly a decade. Was I truly the person who had captured Azriel's attention?

Curiosity bubbled within me. "So, how old are you, Rickie? Do you have a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?" he asked.

I was taken aback but shook my head. "Not really," I replied, unsure how to elaborate.

Torry nodded, seemingly satisfied. We continued to complement each other, and I couldn't help but laugh at Torry's teasing.

"Hey, Torry, don't fool me. I did my homework before coming here. Stark Pharmaceutical was a small business over ten years ago, and now you're in the top three in the city!"

"I have a friend who's even more powerful. Without him, Stark might have fallen during the industry shakeup ten years ago," Torry said his tone a mix of gratitude and nostalgia.

After a satisfying meal, I handed Torry the list of medicines I had prepared-thirty-two items in total. He took it, studied the list, and looked up at me.

"We have enough stock for twenty-five of these. The other seven will take about half a month to procure," he explained.

I looked at the document in front of me. If there's no inventory, it should take about half a month at best.

"We can ship it to East Africa in batches. What's Torry's price quote?" I asked, wanting to be clear about our situation.

"Yes, I genuinely want to help you," Torry replied. "To be honest, with the amount on this list, I can offer a 20% discount, but I need to discuss it with another major shareholder after this."

"According to our current budget, we need a 60% discount. Do you think that's possible? I can meet with your other shareholders," I proposed, knowing that this amount was significant and that a 60% discount would likely require unanimous consent.

"Just think of it as a favour for you. If he agrees, I won't have an issue with it. Honestly, I envy your work," Torry joked, which piqued my curiosity about his connection to Azriel.

"I'm a shareholder, but I rarely come to the company. It's not far from where he lives. Let's go directly," he added.

Instead of heading into the city, we drove out to a suburban courtyard that looked like an ancient high-walled estate. I couldn't help but admire the elegance of the place.

As we walked through the front yard, I spotted a man sitting in a rocking chair by the window, sipping tea. For a moment, I was taken aback by the familiarity of the figure.

"This is another shareholder, Azriel, and this is the MSF Rickie I mentioned," Torry introduced.

Now that I was here, there was no turning back. I gathered myself and greeted the man, keeping my tone neutral. "Hello, Azriel."

"Rickie, I have no objections. You can discuss the rest with Azriel," Torry said, glancing between us before excusing himself.

Once we were alone, Azriel motioned for me to sit in the chair beside him.

I couldn't help but smirk; I finally understood why Torry seemed so pleased-he'd orchestrated this meeting for a reason. "Azriel is quite impressive. How many enterprises in the upper city have nothing to do with you?" I remarked, my tone laced with sarcasm as I settled into the chair.

Azriel didn't take offense; instead, he calmly poured me a cup of tea. "I'm no longer just Azriel. Try this year's Dahongpao," he said, placing the cup in front of me.

I wasn't the same naive young man I had been five years ago. I picked up the cup and met his gaze. "You sought out Torry, didn't you?"

Everything suddenly clicked; his unusual behavior made sense. "You contacted him first, and I haven't checked in on the company in ages," I added.

Azriel maintained his leisurely demeanor. "True enough."

I let out a cold smile. It was hard to believe someone like him wouldn't know I was back. "Let's get down to business."

"Alright, tell me your price," Azriel replied, adjusting the blanket on his lap and clearing his throat softly.

"What's your price-didn't Torry tell you?" Rickie asked, feeling a knot tighten in his throat as he faced Azriel.

Azriel didn't seem bothered. Instead, he asked calmly, "Have you contacted an international logistics company?"

"What do you mean?" Rickie frowned, confused.

"When you go back to Freedonia to purchase, do you think that just because you've been to Ascot Ridge, the pharmaceutical companies will lower their prices due to your urgent needs? Can logistics companies do the same?" Azriel's voice was steady, but his words hit hard, exposing the tough realities of the business world.

Rickie was stunned by this insight. He hadn't considered that angle at all. Azriel watched his reaction and continued, "Your budget assumes a 60% discount. I assume you've accounted for transportation costs, but what if the logistics company raises their prices?"

That thought struck Rickie like a lightning bolt. If they increased their rates, his budget would definitely fall short. Frustration was palpable on his face; he realized how careless he had been. He had two options: negotiate the price of the medicine down or ensure logistics costs wouldn't spike. Given the tight timeline, it made sense to negotiate with Azriel now, but asking for a favor felt daunting.

Azriel took a slow sip of tea, coughed lightly, and let the silence linger, clearly waiting for Rickie to process everything.

"Can you lower your price?" Rickie finally asked, knowing he had to focus on the bigger picture, even if it felt like giving in.

Azriel smiled, pleased with Rickie's concession. It seemed he was finally learning that the road ahead wouldn't be smooth, and understanding the situation was better than stubbornly resisting it.

"Yes, I can give you a 50% discount. I also have a reliable logistics company that will ensure the goods arrive in East Africa on time, but you'll need to agree to one condition," Azriel replied.

"What condition?" Rickie asked, wary of what Azriel might want.

"Can you cook?" Azriel looked at him with a grin, setting his teacup down.

"Cooking?" Rickie was taken aback, confusion washing over him.

Azriel nodded. "Yes, you can eat, but you can't compare to a professional chef."

After years abroad, Rickie had learned to cook out of necessity when supplies were limited. He could manage, but he knew he could never match a chef's skills. Still, as long as he was full, that was what mattered.

"That's fine. It will take about two weeks for the goods to be ready. My aunt is going home during that time, so you'll cook for me for the next two weeks," Azriel said, pressing his knee against the blanket. He seemed to think this would give Rickie enough time to learn.

"Is that really the deal?" Rickie asked, puzzled. A 50% discount felt like a steep price to pay for a home-cooked meal. His instincts were on high alert, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

Here's a more engaging version of the chapter, with added detail and depth to enhance the interest:

"This is the requirement. After all, I can't go without eating for the next two weeks. If you can cook, it saves me the trouble of finding someone else," Azriel said, leaning back against the plush pillows. His deep-set eyes sparkled with mischief as they met Rickie's.

"Okay, I'll agree to that. If you deliver the medicine on time, I'll cook for you for two weeks," Rickie replied, gritting his teeth. Cooking wasn't a daunting task, but the thought of living under the same roof as Azriel stirred up old emotions. Still, he could manage; it was just cooking.

"Well, since I'm stuck in this remote place, you might as well live here. Pick any room you like," Azriel smiled, his demeanor growing warm and inviting.

Rickie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, pick any room? Are you really that generous?"

"Why not? It's a big house, and I hardly use most of it. Besides, it'll be nice to have someone around," Azriel said, a hint of sincerity in his voice.

"I want to check the concentration of the drugs you have in stock," Rickie interjected, his tone turning serious. He didn't completely trust this pharmaceutical company, and he knew that even minor variations in drug concentration could have significant consequences. They were dealing with lives, and he needed to ensure that they were prepared to handle the epidemic effectively.

"Don't worry. I'll arrange everything. Tomorrow, you can sample and inspect the drugs in stock," Azriel assured him. Rickie nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief. Despite his reservations about Azriel, he couldn't deny the man's competence. After all these years, Rickie found himself once again swayed by Azriel's confidence.

Azriel glanced at his watch, a faint frown appearing on his face. "It's almost four o'clock. You should take a look at the kitchen. My aunt stocked the fridge with ingredients. If you need anything else, just let me know, and I can have the driver bring it."

Rickie's eyes widened as he noticed the inviting kitchen. He hadn't expected Azriel to embrace this role so quickly. Did they really just negotiate cooking arrangements?

"What time do you usually eat?" Rickie asked, curiosity piqued.

"About six o'clock," Azriel replied, a hint of reluctance in his tone. He often struggled with his appetite due to medication but was disciplined about mealtime.

"Six o'clock? That's a sensible time," Rickie noted. But then he scolded himself for getting lost in trivial thoughts again.

"I'll go see what ingredients are available," he said, pushing aside his musings.

Azriel nodded, lifting the blanket from his legs and slowly following Rickie into the kitchen.

The kitchen was impressive, featuring a large integrated refrigerator brimming with fresh produce, meats, eggs, and even desserts. It was clear Azriel had put some thought into this.

"How many dishes do you usually make?" Rickie asked, glancing over the bounty.

"Two or three. I can't eat it all by myself," Azriel admitted, shrugging.

Rickie couldn't help but chuckle, turning to face him. "That doesn't fit the stereotype of a capitalist. Shouldn't you be enjoying seven or eight dishes at every meal?"

Azriel laughed, his eyes twinkling. "Capitalists are human too. If you work hard, you shouldn't waste food."

Rickie smiled back, feeling a flicker of nostalgia. There was something familiar about Azriel's laughter, a connection that reached back through the years.

"Then I'll improve your meals starting today," Rickie declared, feeling a renewed sense of purpose. Azriel had helped him significantly, and despite any past prejudices, he was determined to make the most of this opportunity. For the next two weeks, he would take his role as chef seriously and give it his all.

As he mentally planned the meals, Rickie felt like he was stepping into a new chapter of his life-one where he could combine his skills with his desire to help.

"Go ahead and sit down; dinner will be ready by six o'clock," he said, waving Azriel toward a chair. The kitchen suddenly felt like a place where transformation was possible, and he was ready to embrace it.

Azriel didn't expect Rickie's reaction. He had thought the young man might accuse him of taking advantage of the situation. Instead, he sat on the sofa in the living room, watching as Rickie tied on his apron, deftly pulled out meat and vegetables, and began washing and cutting them with precision. Azriel felt a wave of relief that he had chosen an open kitchen.

As time passed quietly in the room, Azriel couldn't help but feel a surge of nostalgia. The little boy he had first met had grown up so quickly. He found himself reminiscing about the times they had spent together, moments that seemed to blend into a harmonious past.

In the kitchen, however, Rickie was focused entirely on the task at hand. He knew he was taking advantage of the situation, but he was determined to do his part seriously and poured his heart into cooking dinner.

In the tranquil courtyard, the sizzling sound of water hitting the hot oil filled the air, infusing the space with the aromas of a bustling kitchen.

Rickie emerged with two dishes, calling out, "Time for dinner!"

Azriel stood up and approached the table, eyeing the offerings: a yam stir-fried with broccoli and a dish of meat sautéed with celery. Rickie soon brought out two more plates: sweet and sour ribs, and a plate of popular crayfish. Azriel was taken aback, not just by the variety, but by Rickie's willingness to prepare such dishes for him.

"Sit down first; I have soup too," Rickie said, returning with a small casserole.

"What kind of soup is this?" Azriel leaned in, curious.

"Shredded bamboo shoot soup. I noticed you had dried bamboo shoots in your kitchen. It's good for you to have four dishes and a soup," Rickie replied as he settled down across from him.

"It's important to eat well. This meal feels quite extravagant," Azriel remarked, picking up his chopsticks and tasting the celery dish. He couldn't resist teasing Rickie about his culinary skills.

Rickie remained quiet, though inwardly he thought about the hefty price of this meal-the rice exchanged for hundreds of millions in discounts.

The meal passed in a comfortable silence, the atmosphere warm despite the lack of words.

"Do you live here alone?" Rickie asked, recalling that Azriel had mentioned he was by himself.

"Yes, if you don't count you," Azriel replied softly, a hint of warmth in his gaze. "Have you been doing well these past few years?"

"It's been great. I've traveled a lot-north and south. It's been fulfilling," Rickie said, though he ate with the fervor of someone who hadn't had a proper meal in a while.

"Doctors Without Borders is a good organization. Just remember to take care of yourself," Azriel said, his voice laced with concern. The mention of protection brought back memories of a certain individual whose fate remained uncertain. Rickie merely nodded, a silence falling between them, which Azriel sensed weighed heavily on both of them.

"By the way, what did you mean when you said you're not Azriel?" Rickie asked, recalling Torry's earlier comments about Azriel being a shareholder who rarely appeared at the company. Looking around the beautiful house, he wondered why Azriel chose to live so far from the city.

"I stepped back from my role and no longer run things," Azriel replied, his appetite waning. He sipped from his bowl, trying to keep the conversation light.

"Stepped back? You weren't kicked out, were you?" Rickie asked, skepticism evident in his voice. He couldn't imagine a workaholic like Azriel simply walking away from his responsibilities.

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. I just needed a change."

Rickie felt a flicker of curiosity about what lay behind Azriel's decision, but he decided not to pry further. They both sat in comfortable silence, the warmth of the meal and their shared history wrapping around them like a familiar blanket.