"Then why do those family members still try to find regret in their eyes?" Cruxius asked, smiling faintly toward Darithi, his large hands tucked casually into his pockets.
They were on the tenth floor now.
The open windows nearby let in a fresh, cool breeze that fluttered his dark hair and pressed Darithi's crisp shirt flush against her skin, subtly tracing the lace outline of her bra. She noticed the nurses and passing women flushing as they stole hungry, lingering glances at Cruxius's handsome, aristocratic profile and broad shoulders.
But she was used to his natural magnetism, so she ignored it.
"Because they see those killers through their own lens. If they were in the criminal's place, they would've regretted it," Darithi explained, her voice dropping a fraction with a subtle huskiness.
It was a normal trait of kind people—to expect others to seek forgiveness, simply because they themselves would have.
