Jia took a deep, steadying breath.
She turned to the man who sat with his back against the carved headboard, his posture straight but fragile in a way that made something uneasy crawl beneath her skin. She really looked at him now, and though he looked physically exhausted, it was his eyes that unsettled her the most.
The last time she saw him, when he showed up at her window, those eyes held a flicker of resistance. A very quiet, stubborn life that suited him.
But now, in the depths of the coldness lingered something empty. Stripped. Like someone had scooped out the person inside and left only a shell wearing a face.
It was all an act.
