There was really no need to explain anything, but Isla Prescott still pushed Silas Lockwood's hand away and hurried out.
In the hallway, it wasn't just Shane Sterling. Ivan Fulton, Mason Jacobs, and the others were there too—all of them were Silas Lockwood's childhood friends.
They were all tall and long-legged, dressed in black suits. Each possessed his own elegant grace and a distinct, noble air.
They were likely worried about Silas Lockwood, so after the funeral ended and the guests had dispersed, they all came back.
"Isabelle, how's Silas?" Ivan Fulton asked.
"He's asleep."
"He must be completely worn out from the past two days. We won't disturb him, then. We'll let him rest."
Isla Prescott nodded. "Okay."
They headed toward the mourning hall. Shane Sterling walked in the center of the group and didn't look at her the entire time. His expression was impassive, conveying an apathy that suggested he cared about nothing at all.
