Sinclair remained motionless, allowing Camilla to hold his hand.
His dark eyes bore into hers with an unwavering intensity.
"Sweetheart," Camilla's crimson lips parted slightly, her voice soft yet cool, carrying a quiet firmness.
"You can't kill him."
Everyone present—Ramsey, Luke, and the rest—couldn't hide their shock.
Jonathan, who had already resigned himself to death, strained to lift his head at her words.
The lifeless despair in his eyes flickered, quickly igniting into a glimmer of hope.
As long as he lived, there was still a chance.
Sinclair's rain-soaked lashes trembled slightly.
His obsidian eyes, fixed on Camilla, darkened like an unfathomable abyss.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable.
"Camilla...are you asking me to let him go?"
Camilla met his gaze steadily, her own eyes locked onto his stormy ones.
"If I am...would you agree?"
