The woman caught the look of disbelief on his face and hurried to explain. "Yes. This fog drives people mad. In the city, so many turned savage. Families tore each other apart. Nobody cared who they hurt." Her wary eyes darted toward him. "You're not going to lose control and attack us too, are you?" The man's brow stayed tight. His lips parted to speak, but a voice rang out from inside the villa. "Bruno, who's out there?" The woman's grip on her child's hand tightened hard. A woman's voice. That made things complicated. The man alone was hard enough to trick. Add a woman, and everything could fall apart. Her arm twitched, and a small knife slid into her palm from the wide sleeve. She told herself she would wait. Then she would strike when the moment was right. From the doorway, a young girl stepped into view. "Bruno, is someone out there who needs help?" The woman froze. She slipped the blade back into hiding. Bruno swung around and blocked her path. "Whitney, stay inside. The fog's too heavy." But Whitney didn't listen. She leaned forward, sympathy softening her gaze as she peered at the woman and the boy outside the gate. "Are they in trouble?" Bruno drew breath to answer, but the woman outside shouted first. "Please! Good sir, madam, help us! I'm begging you!" Bruno's glare burned with anger. He raised his hand and covered Whitney's mouth and nose. "Whitney, the fog's poison. Go back in. I'll handle it." Whitney shoved his hand aside, her brow furrowed deep. "What, you're immune now? You just went scavenging yesterday. Stop breathing this air. Get back inside. Let me deal with them." Bruno was not going to let his employer talk to a couple strangers all by herself. Bruno planted his feet, his voice sharp. "You need to leave. We can't help you." The woman outside paid him no mind. Her eyes fixed on Whitney instead. "Please, lady, I'm begging you. I can endure this, but my child is still little!" Her hands shook as she pushed the boy forward. Whitney's heart softened. The boy's clothes were far too small, clinging to his thin frame. His face was clean, almost delicate, yet his shirt and pants were ragged and filthy. Her chest tightened at the sight. "What happened to you?" The woman repeated the story she had already told Bruno. But this time, the words sank deeper. Whitney's eyes flickered. She glanced at the fog curling around them, then made her choice. "The fog's dangerous. Come inside. We'll talk there." The woman's face lit up with hope. "Thank you! Thank you, lady!" It was clear now who truly had the final say. She nudged her son quickly. "Thank her. Hurry." The boy whispered, his voice tiny. "Thank you, lady." Bruno's face turned grim. He leaned closer to Whitney, his words a warning. "Whitney, they're strangers. Letting them in is a risk."Whitney's voice stayed calm and steady. "Everyone struggles. If we can help, then we should. What, you want to be like the neighbors? Stand by cold and empty while people die in front of us?" Her words cut deep. She still remembered the earthquake, when screams rose from the rubble and nobody lifted a hand. She still heard those cries echoing in her dreams. She would never repeat that mistake, not when the same choice was presented to her. Bruno's jaw tightened. "But—" Whitney pointed at the two outside, her tone firm. "Look at them. A child who couldn't hurt a fly. A woman barely five feet tall, skin and bones, her clothes hanging loose. Even if they tried, what chance do they stand against you?" She knew the truth. Bruno wasn't just any man. He had been a bodyguard because no one could best him. He could handle a squad on his own. With him here, letting in a frail mother and child was no danger. And Whitney believed in balance. To her, every act of kindness built the blessings she might need one day. The woman outside shifted, uneasy. She couldn't hear their words. Fear clawed at her, and she called again. "Lady?" Whitney's voice carried the weight of command. Bruno had no choice. He opened the gate. The woman dragged her boy inside fast, spilling thanks with every breath. Whitney led them into the villa and motioned toward the sofa. "Sit, please. Tell me your names." The woman tugged off her mask and pulled the one from her son's face. "I'm Lisa." She touched the boy's shoulder. "This is my son, Joe." Only then did Whitney see them clearly. Lisa's face was sharp and striking, but fine lines creased her eyes. Shadows carved deep around her mouth, the kind only years of hardship could leave behind.