The room was so quiet that Julian Sterling could clearly hear the sound of his own beating heart. The blunt thud of the wooden piece falling onto the floor still echoed in his ears, intertwining with the desperate screams from a blood-soaked memory that had just been violently torn open.
Cedric Harrington stood there, a half-smile full of pity still lingering on his lips, looking exactly like a deity standing high above and peering down at a mere ant struggling in the mud of the past. He waited for a breakdown, waited for panicked tears or a terrified scream of escape from Julian.
But Julian did not shy away.
