The shop was quiet.
Only the occasional clinks of porcelain could be heard. Hank Finn sat on the other side, his eyelids not even twitching. He claimed indifferently that his indifference and lack of gratitude was repugnant.
Yvonne Finley furrowed her brows subconsciously, an indescribable sense of discomfort enveloping her heart. As if poked by a sharp object, she turned her gaze to the listless man beside her and instinctively clung onto his wrist.
"Caleb."
What did Finn mean by, 'how long can he survive'?
She knew Caleb's situation could be grave, but hearing about it from an enemy's mouth disturbed her even more.
Caleb's gaze wandered, looking down at her and saying, "Trust me."
Yvonne's eyes fluttered slightly.
The hand that clenched his, loosened gradually.
