Backlake Villa, brightly lit.
Henry Ronan carried Lucy Ansley into the living room; under the bright light, he could clearly see the stiffness in the girl's eyes and expression.
She clung tightly to the man's neck, her pupils constricting, hiding unknown secrets.
Henry Ronan placed her on the sofa, knelt down on one knee, and looked directly into the eyes of Lucy Ansley, who hadn't responded yet.
Her current state was quite similar to emotional detachment.
The man's thick eyebrows knitted tightly; as he lowered his head, he saw Lucy Ansley's curled fingertips trembling slightly.
It was almost invisible and would likely be overlooked unless he observed carefully.
Perhaps she was still in shock, still immersed in it.
The trembling fingertips at least showed she wasn't unconscious; it was more like an after-fear.
Henry Ronan leaned forward, gently patting her back, his tone soothing, "It's okay now, it was just a small accident."
