Three years later, he made a comeback. In a fine suit, he found the neighborhood where I was hiding and came to my door with a team carrying all kinds of generous At that time, he finally learned my name. So it was you, Godfather. Later, in my name, he funded the neighborhood where I grew up, re-renovated the old church, and even built a new activity room for the children there.
And now, the reaper of Ironwall Street, the man who shook all of Silverport, stood right in front of me. I shot him a look. After everyone left, the living room fell quiet again. Mr. Sinclair's legs gave out and she sank onto the sofa.
Good heavens, Alina, today it's all thanks to you. But Mr. Sinclair didn't reply. His gaze fell on me. His eyes complicated.
What, you recognize it? Staring at the pendant, my thoughts drifted back to the year I was eight. That year, my mother had just passed away, and I became an orphan, wandering the streets until an old godfather took me in and adopted me.
But back then, I still couldn't hold my tongue. One careless word got the friend who begged on the streets with me. Seeing me in such a despondent state, the old godfather consoled me. My foster father carved me a pendant and said,
Ethan, the fewer words you speak, the longer you live. If you keep running your mouth, sooner or later you'll get yourself killed.