Jasmine Yale saw in Sylvan Cheney's eyes an endless depth, those bloodshot eyes no less sharp, the gaze like a blade.
She looked at him in shock, moving her lips: "President."
The distance between them wasn't far, the floor was scattered with messy papers and files.
Sylvan Cheney sat, while Jasmine Yale stood.
The rain outside was falling, drumming pitter-patter against the window, outside rain, inside mist.
The atmosphere in the office was very delicate, the air smelling of cigarettes, with a hint of fresh blood.
"I'm sorry." Jasmine Yale stood opposite him, looking toward him all the while, "I didn't know Yukon would come to the office today. The issue started because of me. I apologize on his behalf. If he said something, don't take it to heart. I apologize to you."
Sylvan Cheney didn't speak, his thin lips tightly pressed, those eyes staring intently at her.
Though he was injured, the aura of nobility and indifference around him had not changed at all.
