Before he realized what he was doing—the photograph flew across the room.
It slammed violently against the wall before shattering into countless pieces, the picture slipping out of the frame.
The sound echoed through the empty apartment.
Hiro froze. His chest rose and fell heavily. He looked at the broken glass scattered across the floor before another emotion surged through him.
Anger—not toward Felix, but toward himself.
A vase from the table next suffered the same fate as the photograph. It crashed against the opposite wall.
Then came a stack of books, followed by a lamp.
Anything his trembling hands could reach.
The apartment filled with the deafening sounds of objects breaking apart one after another.
Only when there was nothing left within reach did Hiro stop moving.
"Fuck…" He cursed.
His breathing had become ragged. His shoulders shook violently.
