Helpless, Austin lowered his head, his dejection palpable. Alexander, noticing his gloomy mood, offered comfort. "We must have confidence in the old man," he said, "and in ourselves."

"I'm not confident in myself," Austin replied, unmoved.

He turned, rose, and walked to the window, gazing down at the manor. Its stillness felt heavier now. He recalled his recent turmoil within these walls—the dismantled balcony, the destruction. Dominic, despite his scolding, had cleaned up the mess, cared for him, done so much, though he'd never admit it. He'd also taught Austin everything he knew.

Austin had once considered his granduncle biased, but later realized his own overconfidence and inadequacy. Dominic had seen through him all along, yet hadn't directly confronted him; instead, Austin had consistently been the one lost in his own thoughts.

Now, when Dominic needed him most, Austin felt utterly incapable; his own actions had even harmed him. The thought of exchanging his life for Dominic's, by leaping from the window, crossed his mind. But he couldn't. He couldn't abandon his granduncle, his parents, his grandfather, everyone hurt by his actions.

Holding the windowpane, he took a deep breath, forcing back tears unshed for years. It felt as though he'd wept for all those lost days.

"I can't continue living like this," he murmured.

Despite Dominic's instructions to rest, Austin couldn't simply wait. He needed to focus on the essentials, to tend the greenhouse and its rare plants. This thought ignited a spark. He turned to Alexander, his expression resolute.

"You're right. We should be more confident. They studied the virus, so what? I refuse to believe there's a virus we can't overcome, especially artificial ones. Even a symbiote must have a weakness." He clenched his fists, speaking to both Alexander and himself. "We can't admit defeat. We will never lose to them!"

Alexander, sensing Austin's renewed resolve, nodded. "You're right. Defeat isn't in my dictionary."

The two men, previously mere acquaintances, found common ground: a shared determination to protect those they cared for. Austin straightened, then asked, "By the way, what's happening with Lily?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry, I overheard you on the phone. Isn't she in danger?" Austin hadn't pressed, yet he'd gleaned much from overheard conversations. Lily's absence spoke volumes; she was occupied with something of paramount importance—likely the organization they needed to destroy.

Alexander didn't mind the eavesdropping; he'd known Austin was present. He simply replied, "She's fine."