The sound of the porcelain face shattering echoed in Yingluo's mind long after the pieces had settled on the black glass. It was a clean, final sound, like a judge's gavel bringing a verdict. The verdict was fool. She stood over the wreckage of the beautiful lie, the cold air seeping into her bones, a chill that had nothing to do with the alien environment. It was the chill of her own profound, catastrophic error.
Hope was a poison. She had drunk deeply, and now the venom was curdling in her veins. She had risked everything, her life, Shen Miao's, Gao Lian's, the boy's; on a pretty smile and a beckoning hand. Li Xun had died for logic, for a calculated risk. She had nearly gotten them all killed for a feeling.
