The moment Damien settled into his seat, the boy in front of him turned back sharply, his wide eyes locking onto him as if he had just seen a ghost.
"Is it really you, Damien?"
Damien exhaled through his nose, amused by the disbelief in his voice.
Moren Vaughn.
One of the few people who had willingly associated with him before. Not exactly a friend, but a familiar face. Someone who had drifted in and out of his orbit, usually alongside a bottle of expensive liquor or the dim lights of some underground club.
The young master of the Vaughn family—a name that carried significant wealth, though not enough to compete with the true powerhouses of nobility.
And just like the old Damien, Moren was a prime example of wasted potential.
Lazy. Apathetic. Living purely for distractions. Always chasing temporary pleasures while putting in the bare minimum effort anywhere else.
Just like the previous Damien.
It was almost funny, really.
