Kabul, Afghanistan;
Diablos's Villa, 18:15;
Xi Yuan locked the door behind him, the faint click disrupting the silence in the room. He walked over to the small counter in the corner of the space and switched on the electric kettle, waiting patiently for the water to warm up, his gaze drifting to the frail frame lying on the bed. A minute later, he filled one of the three glasses and moved toward the center of the room, his steps light and steady. Placing the glass on a tray atop the polished mahogany side table, he seated himself on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed upon the love of his life.
Crying. Sobbing. Weeping.