Damon stood unmoving like a sculpture, his face was cold and stern. He shut his eyes, his hands clenched tightly beside him.
Then he squatted beside the dead maid's body. He reached for the locket; however, his hand halted midway.
For the first time, his stern face fell. He looked like someone who had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. His shoulders slumped, he swallowed, and reached for the locket.
His fingers lightly brushed against it, his fingers stained by blood. The blood of the maid had sprayed over the locket.
He tucked his clean hand into his pocket, pulling a napkin out. He covered the locket with the napkin.
He rose to his feet, his eyes lingered on the maid's body, his jaws tightened. He turned around, heading out of the cell.
His eyes met with mine momentarily. I looked away. "Are you okay?" I whispered.
His brows furrowed deeply at me. "Do I look like I'm not okay?"
"No… I mean yes. You don't look like you are okay."
