Meanwhile, Daxter turned his gaze to the woman now lying on the black leather sofa. Her face was peaceful in drunken sleep, as if unaware of the raging storm swirling around her.
He drew closer, leaning down slowly. His fingers nearly brushed her cheek, but he pulled back at the last instant, afraid the illusion might vanish if he dared too much.
"If you truly are Veronica…" he whispered bitterly, "I swear, I will never let you go again."
With calm yet heavy steps, Daxter once again lifted the fragile body of the woman into his arms. She felt light, as though she might shatter from a grip held too tightly. Each step toward the bedroom felt like walking a long path back into a past he had spent years avoiding.
