"You look pale." Slade surveyed Yue's face, but Yuè walked around his old home in a deep, saddened silence. Everything looked the same as when he had left. The rickety only couch his father has built for them years ago, aged and well worn from use and time.
Their shared cot that Yuè recalled spending many nights, bundled in his father's arm warmth until the man had grown weak and fragile.
There were no portraits of them anywhere, but the drawing on the walls from his youth, the crudely carved memories that he and his father had made with what very little they had. All of it was the same, the only changed thing there was Yué himself.
He sifted through everything in search of the locket, every little nook and cranny that could possibly have something hidden within, but there was nothing.
