Tony, with tearful eyes, looked at the screen, the light and shadows on it illuminating his slightly wrinkled face.
In the sketches, he gradually aged, slowly melding his appearance with who he was now.
The last sketch sent by Detective Cat was paused in the bedroom on the ranch, depicting a photo taken three months ago, where he stood in a light sweater on the porch, with an old, quaint, weathered little house at his feet.
That was Amy's old cat house—a small craft he made as a child using wood, duck feathers, and an old mailbox, with the help of the servants.
Exactly thirty years ago from now.
He gazed at the screen as if staring at a dream from thirty years ago, his eyes reflecting the flickering light of the television.
Dr. Jin Anqing, on the other hand, was focusing intently on Tony's expression.
Mr. Tree Sloth said, a person can only awaken when faced with their soul.
