When Xia Ya opened his eyes again, the cabin lighting had been dimmed to its darkest nighttime setting.
As his retinas readjusted and his vision focused, Xia Ya saw two people standing silently beside the bed.
Jiliang and Lacus Clyne.
Jiliang's soft brown hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and traces of bloodshot veins remained in her eyes.
Lacus wore her pale high-collared dress, her hands folded before her.
Neither of them wore the smiles Xia Ya knew so well. Their faces, usually so gentle and tolerant, had been replaced by utterly tense, rigid expressions.
Dim light fell across their profiles from above, outlining silhouettes devoid of warmth.
Xia Ya braced an arm against the bed and pushed himself upright. A brief silence spread through the cramped cabin, with neither side taking the initiative to speak.
He knew the reason perfectly well.
While he had been asleep, Mu had already sent everyone copies of the yellowed documents recovered from Mendel's underground cultivation hall.
The photograph of Al Da Flaga and a young Mu, the coldly written clone experiment data beside it, the note on telomere defects, and Ulen Hibiki's cruel artificial womb project. Everything had been laid bare.
Xia Ya turned his gaze away, refusing to look into the two pairs of eyes fixed directly on him. A man who normally held himself above every conspiracy, every matter of life and death in this world, could not find a single suitable opening now.
What could he say? Did he still have the right to accept their concern without shame?
He had repeatedly spoken to Jiliang and Lacus of protection and favoritism, swearing he would never let them be hurt, yet he had wrapped the deadliest blade in his palm and hidden it away, cutting them off from the truth on