"Little Sevia." Elia's calm voice pulled Tang Xin back from her distraction, "These children..."
Just then, the door of the foster home was banged on forcefully, breaking the silence of the night streets. The children, who had just managed to fall asleep, were awakened by the noise, and faint cries of children could be heard inside.
The two looked outside the foster home and saw a homeless man in tattered clothes, deep-set eyes standing in front of the door, emanating a foul odor. His ten frostbitten, cracked fingers clung tightly to the iron gate of the foster home, with mud embedded in his nails.
Elia frowned with helplessness on her brows and eyes, taking a wooden stick and stepped forward, hitting the homeless man's hand clutching the iron gate: "Leave here, leave here now!"
Unexpectedly, the homeless man's dark eyes turned and locked onto Elia's face, as if lost in past memories, a flicker of clarity in the murkiness, "Dean Elia..."
