Chapter 120 Just Be Ready
Alberto stepped into the kitchen just after dawn, the scent of bread and broth thick in the air. The female workers maids, cooks, scullions froze when they saw him. One dropped a ladle with a clatter.
He held up a hand. “I need some space. Just for a bit.”
They didn’t argue. They bowed quickly and scattered, leaving him alone among the steaming pots and wooden counters.
Alberto rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
He chopped onions with sharp, precise movements. Stirred broth with rosemary and crushed moonroot. Rolled dough for honey cakes the kind Samael always stole from the pantry anytime they are training close to the kitchen. He fried spiced meat strips until they crisped at the edges, just how Samael liked them. He even brewed mint tea, strong and bitter, the way they’d shared during night watches years ago.
When it was done, he arranged everything on a tray neat, warm, fragrant and covered it with a clean cloth.
Then he went back to his room.
He washed quickly, scrubbing the sleep and wine-stink from his skin. Dressed in simple but clean clothes dark trousers, a soft gray tunic, no jewels, no Luna insignia. Just Alberto.
He draped a plain cloak over his shoulders, picked up the tray, and walked toward the prison wing.
The guards at the entrance stiffened as he approached.
One stepped forward. “Luna, you can’t—”
Alberto didn’t speak. He simply removed his cloak, letting it fall to the floor.
And raised his eyebrows.
The effect was immediate.
Every guard recognized those eyes shifting colors like fractured starlight, glowing faintly with the power of an Enigma wolf. The same eyes that had stared down Fernando. The same eyes that had silenced elders.
They bowed their heads in unison.
“Forgive us, Luna,” the lead guard muttered.
They stepped aside without another word.
Alberto walked in.
The cell was dim, damp, cold. Samael sat on the cot, back against the wall, one hand wrapped in stained bandages, the other resting limply in his lap. His face was gaunt, shadowed with bruises, but his eyes were sharp.
He looked up and rolled his eyes.
“Took you long enough,” he said, voice rough but familiar.
Alberto set the tray down on the floor and smiled. “You look like shit.”
Samael snorted. “Feel like it too.”
Alberto turned to the door. “Hey You! Bring a bucket of clean water, soap, and a towel. Now.”
Moments later, the items arrived. Alberto shut the door and knelt beside Samael.
“Let’s get you presentable,” he said, dipping the cloth in warm water.
Samael didn’t resist as Alberto gently cleaned the grime from his face, dabbed at the cuts on his ribs, washed the blood from his hair. He winced once or twice but stayed silent.
When he was clean, Alberto pulled out fresh clothes soft linen, dark green, the color Samael always wore before he became a criminal.
“Where’d you get these?” Samael asked quietly.
“Stole them from your quarters,” Alberto said with a smirk. “Figured you’d want something that smells like home.”
He helped Samael into the tunic, careful with his injured hand. Then he uncovered the tray.
Samael stared at the food. His throat worked. “Is this my last supper?”
Alberto laughed softly. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m not letting them execute you.”
Samael looked up sharply. “Alberto…”
“I know you’re innocent,” Alberto said, voice firm. “And I won’t let them kill you for someone else’s crime.”
Samael’s eyes filled with tears. Without warning, he pulled Alberto into a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “For believing me.”
Alberto hugged him back, holding on like he might disappear. “Always.”
When they pulled apart, Alberto glanced at the door, then leaned close.
“Listen,” he murmured. “If it gets to a point… if they try to move you…” He slipped a small vial into Samael’s palm. “This will make anyone who breathes it fall into deep sleep. Looks like death, but it’s not. Lasts six hours.”
Samael’s fingers closed around it.
Then Alberto pressed something cold and metallic into his hand. “And this is the key. Took it from the guard when he handed me the bucket. He never noticed.”
Samael nodded slowly. “You’ve been planning this.”
“Since last night,” Alberto admitted. “Now eat. You’ll need your strength.”
Samael picked up a honey cake, took a bite, and closed his eyes. “Still the best cook in the pack.”
Alberto smiled. “Flattery won’t get you extra cakes.”
They sat in silence for a while, eating, the tension easing just slightly.
Then Samael looked at him, really looked. “Have you… gotten your memories back? Since you connected with your wolf?”
Alberto’s smile faded. He nodded slowly. “Yes. All of them and someone doesn't know what's coming for them because I won't forgive past mistakes.”
Samael frowned. “What does that mean?”
Alberto’s eyes shimmered gold, violet, emerald like storm clouds gathering. “It means I remember who I was before they erased me. Before they called me ‘dumb boy’ and ‘stray.’ Before they made me forget my name, my blood, my purpose.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And a whole lot of people are going to pay for the trauma I went through.”
Samael stared at him, unease flickering in his gaze. “Alberto… what are you saying?”
Alberto stood, brushing crumbs from his tunic. He gave Samael a small, cryptic smile. “Don’t think too much about it. Just be ready.”
He turned to leave.
“Alberto,” Samael called out.
Alberto paused at the door.
“Who exactly are you?” Samael asked, voice barely audible.
Alberto didn’t answer. He just smiled again sad, knowing, ancient and walked out.
Behind him, Samael stared at the empty doorway, the vial and key hidden in his palm, the taste of honey cakes still on his tongue. Outside Alberto met with Mira and gave her a small smile before leaving.
Alberto walked to the garden, looked around to make sure no one was watching and cast one of the spells he had secretly learned and one of the flowers bud open, Alberto collected the sap into a small bottle and then acted like he was picking flowers.