Adam Ashton, for some inexplicable reason, was acting extraordinarily strange.
A mysterious chilliness permeated his surroundings, sending chills down the spine of those present who couldn't understand why.
In the end, it was the police who took control of him.
Physically pulling him away.
Warrior Tucker collapsed onto the chair, tears dripping down her cheeks. She didn't want this, but the repression of many years had exploded, causing her unbearable pain as if she were reliving those years all over again.
Watching her father's skeletal remains, her grandmother dying from a heart attack out of distress, she, at the age of eleven or twelve, single-handedly mourned and arranged the funerals.
It was a disaster no less devastating.
She could overlook what she later experienced on the black market.
But she couldn't forgive her father, a hero of sterling quality, died an insignificant death.
She couldn't tell how long it had been.
