Slumped on the ground, the look of lingering terror had yet to fade from Bronson's face.
He blankly raised his head, looking up at the figure who had saved him and was now gazing down.
At first glance, a stranger.
An exceptionally handsome young face, one that held an almost inhuman charm, with deep, tranquil black eyes.
But then, a deeper sense of familiarity rippled through him, like a stone tossed into a still lake.
The straight line of his nose, the curve of his lips when pressed together in a hint of resignation.
And especially, deep within his eyes, the spirit of one who had weathered many storms yet remained calm and resilient...
Bronson blinked hard, almost suspecting he was hallucinating from the shock and his long-held yearning.
He stared intently at the man, as if trying to forcibly dig out traces of their shared past from that handsome, unfamiliar face.
