Perhaps, back then, if the letter meant for Elizabeth hadn't been hesitantly modified and kept by Fisher, if he had explained everything to her sooner, would things have ended differently?
Is he going to choose to escape like he did in the past?
With these thoughts, Fisher's pupils narrowed slightly, and his footsteps suddenly halted.
His lips trembled slightly, and his fists unconsciously clenched tighter. He suddenly opened his mouth,
"Helair."
"What's the matter, dear?"
Fisher sighed and turned his head to look at Helair behind the table, who was gazing at him questioningly. Sensing Fisher's need to speak, Helair quieted down, waiting for him to continue.
"I… sometimes feel I can't see through you, like you're shrouded in a thick fog. I can't discern what lies within—whether it's a sweet cake or a sharp dagger. Ultimately, it's because I don't actually understand you at all."
He retraced his steps back to the table, but did not sit down, and continued,
