Le An's back rose and fell with shallow breaths, his forehead drenched in sweat, and in the darkness, occasional sharp spasms flickered through his groin, drawing small whimpers from him. Taras still couldn't take his eyes off the scene before him; his mind was, to put it bluntly, shattered.
Never before had Taras found himself so indecisive and clueless about what to do in a room like this. He had never forgotten his purpose or why he wanted to confront the Treasure. It couldn't be said that he still had forgotten; yet, tonight was as different as black and white, after seeing the real truths of this person…
Le An's ragged breathing and the way he brought his hand to his neck while lying on his back made Taras slowly fix his gaze, with a lethal slowness, on Le An's face—the face of a man he once thought lived among wealth, fame, and all manner of existence. A face he had assumed was very happy, very proud, and arrogant.
