Out of Summer Thorne's sight, Timothy York was gripping his uncontrollably trembling hand.
But what Summer Thorne could see was the same as always: his cool, placid gaze.
Utterly placid, yet harboring an emotion she could never decipher.
She didn't want to guess, nor did she want to look back.
Thinking about it now, everything that had happened before felt like an absurd, bitter irony.
It had nothing to do with him.
It was all on her.
From start to finish, all her thoughts and actions, all her contradictions and struggles—it had all been a one-woman show.
As for what attitude he had taken or what role he had played in this show of hers, Summer Thorne had stopped thinking about it.
And as for why he was here, Summer Thorne didn't try to guess that either.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
The two of them remained locked in an almost eerie stalemate.
Until the light inside the apartment behind Summer Thorne flickered on again.
