Different from the tense atmosphere outside, the air inside the room was of another kind of heaviness.
Avanti and Zahedi both knew the end.
One wanted answers.
The other was waiting for a chance to vent.
After a suffocating minute of silence, Zahedi finally put down the teapot, letting out a long and heavy sigh.
That sigh was filled with exhaustion, despair, and a hint of resigned relief.
"Uncle." He raised his head, his gaze piercing straight at Avanti, his voice hoarse, "You've come to arrest me, haven't you? For that damned Song Heping?"
Avanti picked up the scalding tea in front of him, but didn't drink it, simply feeling the heat from the cup's wall.
His voice was low and oppressive, like the thunder before a storm: "Zahedi. Tell me, why?"
He paused, each word hitting the carpet like a heavy hammer, "This is not a matter of Song Heping, it's about why you betrayed your blood? Betrayed your oath? Betrayed this land, to become a CIA lapdog? A disgraceful traitor?!"
