Chapter 162

• Marcel's POV
• After we finished eating, the room settled into a comfortable quiet—just the clink of cutlery against empty plates and the low hum of the old ceiling fan turning lazily above us. Jonas leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with a mix of amusement and something far more sincere. Then he spoke, his tone softer than before, almost thoughtful.
• “I know you don’t trust me,” he began, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass. “Hell, I’d probably feel the same if I were in your shoes. But I want you to know something—I trust you. Completely.”