In a matter of minutes, Cilian's lashes began to flutter in sleep. Even his stubborn nature was no match for the heavy dose of sedative, and he finally dozed off, his head lolling to the side.
Ren watched him for a while, making sure he wasn't faking. He even raised a hand, tempted to strike that obnoxiously handsome face just to confirm the unconsciousness—and perhaps for a bit of long-overdue catharsis. But before he could swing his fist, he paused. He lowered his hand and sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders.
'You're lucky this time,' he thought. He got down from the bed and stretched his aching limbs. He really wanted to hit Cilian for all the times he'd been forced to hold back, but the fire of a few hours ago was no longer burning. Without that rage, hitting a sleeping man felt hollow and meaningless.
He sighed.
Ren walked toward the door and pulled it open. Three guards were waiting in the hall, one of them holding a tablet, ready to let Ren make the promised call.
