In the autumn courtyard, a lone leaf detached from its branch, fluttering down to the ground and adding to the desolate and bleak atmosphere.
Seth Sinclair leaned against a corridor pillar, one long leg braced against the ground. He held a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling around his well-defined knuckles before the wind scattered it.
Lianne glanced around. She was unfamiliar with the paths of the resort and only knew the way back to her room—a path currently blocked by Seth Sinclair.
Before last night, she could still bring herself to call him brother. After, the word was impossible to say.
After a moment of hesitation, Lianne decided to walk over.
Seth Sinclair's jet-black eyes watched her, his gaze inscrutable, like the unfathomable depths of the sea, utterly devoid of ripples.
"Where are you going?"
Lianne stopped and said, "Back to my room."
