Brandan walked over, and he heard her softly call his name: "Brandan..."
He slightly raised his head and glanced at Iris.
Iris was not awake, only her delicate brows were furrowed in pain, calling his name: "Brandan..."
Clearly, it was he who caused her such suffering, yet in her most painful moments, she was still calling his name.
Brandan felt something indescribable in his heart; he stood by the bedside, quietly watching her for a while, then reached out and gently held her cold hand.
Iris's fingers were icy, without a hint of warmth, her palm slick with cold sweat. Feeling his touch, despite having no conscious awareness, she still trembled and tried to wrench free.
Brandan's expression grew somber; unable to resist, he tightened his grip on her fingers, enclosing her cold, slender hand in his palm.
He stayed with her through the night.
