Upon seeing Sylvan Cheney, the light in Chris Fern's eyes completely shattered.
His pupils tightened, and his eyes widened in surprise.
Sylvan Cheney was standing next to Charles Mcintosh, unscathed and as usual.
Noble, cold, aloof.
Condensation clung to Sylvan's forehead, as if he had just walked in from the fog outside, his eyes, tranquil like an ancient well, stirred no waves.
When Chris Fern looked at Sylvan Cheney, Sylvan returned his gaze.
Sylvan barely raising his eyelids, his lips parted slightly, "Chris Fern, while love is important, you should also discern righteousness and wrong."
With a mask on his face, Chris Fern's expression was unclear, but his eyes betrayed him.
He closed his eyes briefly.
"Sylvan Cheney, I don't believe I was wrong. Perhaps my persistence is laughable to you, but as things stand, I don't feel I was wrong. If given another chance, I would do the same. Whatever Yolanda needs, I will provide, even if it costs me my life."
