"Wait..."
Wei'en's calm voice, accompanied by the CLACK-CLACK of his hard-soled boots on the Sal metal, echoed through the dim, damp prison in the ship's hold.
Eight wall sconces held candles of Dawn red. The candlelight flickered, perhaps from the gust of wind caused by his sudden appearance, or perhaps from the killing intent emanating from Clelia, casting the few figures in wavering, indistinct shadows.
The thick stench of blood, the salty tang of seawater, and the putrid smell of rotting flesh mingled in the prison, giving him the strange feeling that he was back in the Laos District.
"They deserve to die!"
Clelia froze, but her eyes remained locked on the cells before her. From the moment she heard the word "ugly," these "people" were already dead in her mind.
Wei'en walked in front of Clelia and grabbed her hand to stop her from taking any further action, his own eyes fixed on the "people" in the cells.
