Tang En had never imagined such a scene in his mind.
Bright little Gavin lay quietly on a cold cart in the hospital morgue, covered with a single white cloth. Other than the light from the corridor through the doorway, the rest of the room was dark. This environment and the image of Gavin did not tally. That child should be bright and lively. Sometimes he would deliberately pretend to look mature and wrinkle his brows, but would reveal his age again when he spoke.
Michael had said he had good grades in school and was smart. Tang En had thought he would have a bright future, too. In the future, he might have been a banker, a barrister... the British Prime Minister.
