Eric Wright couldn’t say anything else, as if even fate knew he needed rescuing. The manager, who had shown the utmost respect to Edward Harris, walked over, bowed again to apologize, offered a compensatory gift card, and said a few polite but necessary words that Eric Wright didn’t much like.

At least he could leave now.

Eric Wright stood up, gripped the handle of his suitcase, and said softly, “I’ll go first, then.”

Without looking back, he walked straight ahead.

But Edward Harris walked quickly, while his own steps were unsteady, so in just a few strides he was caught up, and in the end, the two of them left the hotel together.

Outside, snow had suddenly begun to fall—heavy, nothing like what Eric Wright had expected. Instinctively, he reached out and caught a snowflake in his hand.

He’d heard it rarely snowed here, but it wasn’t impossible; sometimes, you could get lucky.

But not like him and Edward Harris, who, after six years, could only meet again through such an extreme turn of events.

Edward Harris turned his head, like an old friend reunited in a foreign land, and said a perfectly standard farewell: “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

The snowflake in Eric Wright’s hand had already begun to melt. “Me neither.”

“Really?” Edward Harris suddenly smiled.

“I’m quite honored. I thought you’d already forgotten someone like me existed.”

After speaking, he nodded to someone not far away and casually reminded Eric Wright, “Go on, it’s snowing—be careful on the road.”

Eric Wright stood alone for a minute, not because he didn’t want to leave, but because his legs wouldn’t move.

He stood in the swirling snow, but what he saw was the night six years ago when he left Edward Harris—just like this, forgetting to say goodbye.

Edward Harris returned to the car, where his assistant Carl had been waiting in the driver’s seat for a long time.

Normally, Edward Harris was almost obsessively punctual, but this time he was clearly going to be late. Carl was a bit anxious, afraid he’d get in trouble.

“Shaw, straight to the banquet?” Carl glanced at his watch. “The drive will take about forty-five minutes. Tonight’s banquet features a very famous Seattle chef. I checked the menu—originally they planned to serve scallops and shrimp, but I gave them a heads-up that you don’t like seafood, so they switched to venison at the last minute…”

Realizing he’d been talking for a while without getting a response from Edward Harris, Carl looked at him in the rearview mirror and hesitantly called his name again.

In the mirror, Edward Harris’s face was pale, his brows furrowed, eyes fixed on the car’s rearview mirror, a rare trace of hostility on his face.

Carl was debating whether to call him again, but Edward Harris opened the car door and got out first.

“Shaw?” Carl was puzzled and quickly opened the driver’s door to follow.

In his experience, Edward Harris was almost never emotionally unstable. Even when facing extremely tough, hopeless situations at work, Edward Harris remained calm, like an AI lacking emotional expression.

“Get back in the car,” Edward Harris said, glancing at his watch. “I’ll take a cab to the banquet myself.”

Carl was even more confused. “A cab?”

“That person just now…” Edward Harris paused, his expression shifting. “You drive after him and report his whereabouts to me.”

“Fo-follow him? That’s agai—” Carl was stunned, but Edward Harris was already at the curb, waving down a taxi that happened to be approaching.

“You don’t need to come to the event. I’ll let you go straight home later.” With that, Edward Harris got into the cab.

Though he had some reservations about his boss’s orders, Carl still complied, got in the car, drove in the opposite direction, and scanned the street for the handsome young man he’d just seen.

Edward Harris sat in the back of the taxi, staring silently at a dirty spot on the back of the front seat. The driver tried to make conversation, but seeing his expression, fell silent and drove on.

Outside, night had fallen. Snow danced quietly between the city’s night and neon lights, as if trying to cover everything.

Many thoughts flashed through Edward Harris’s mind, but he couldn’t hold onto any of them. He just felt his former self was a bit ridiculous.

After all these years apart, Eric Wright had no curiosity about him. The only question he’d asked was about that letter, as if he’d finally lost patience with Edward Harris’s persistent questioning and delivered a fatal blow.

The most ridiculous thing was, seeing Eric Wright’s vulnerability now, part of him still felt a pang of guilt, thinking he’d been too harsh, that he shouldn’t have pressed so hard.

The driver turned on the heater; it wasn’t cold inside the car. Edward Harris heard the news on the radio—the host reported that Seattle would face record snowfall and the lowest temperatures ever, reminding citizens to take precautions.

Edward Harris wanted to sneer. He rolled down the window, staring expressionlessly at the swirling white outside.

He remembered clearly the heavy snow six years ago, and Eric Wright’s figure obscured by the snow. He remembered standing by the roadside, frozen to the bone, body stiff, unable to take a single step.

A “harsh winter” in Seattle, worthy of special news coverage, meant nothing to him. He’d always been trapped in that snowstorm, and to this day, he still hadn’t escaped.