However, just before the pillow landed and cut off Mark's labored breathing, a hand reached out. Celine moved as fast as lightning, gripping Luan's wrist with surprising strength for her slender frame.
"Stop! Not here!" Celine whispered so as not to draw the crowd's attention.
Luan stared at his sister, breathing heavily, his eyes still red. "He has to die, Celine! After what he did to you, this bastard doesn't deserve to breathe for even a single second!"
Celine didn't loosen her grip. Instead, she fixed her gaze on Mark's pitiful form lying on the thin mattress. There was no fear in her eyes—only a cold emptiness. Celine gently pulled Luan's hand away, forcing her brother to lower the pillow back to where it had been.
Celine brought her face close to Luan's, then uttered a sentence so cold it could freeze the stifling air around them.
"Don't dirty your hands on trash like him. Let him live in agony."
