I repeated the words slowly, the corner of my mouth lifting into a faint curve that could hardly be called a smile.
"Sheena, that line was drawn seven years ago."
She froze.
"Take the money back," I said calmly. "I don't need it. This life is my own choice, and I'll earn my own living."
"It's hard, yes—but it's clean. And it lets me sleep at night."
"As for the past..." I paused briefly. "That's already behind us. You chose your life. I chose mine."
"We've been even for a long time now."
Sheena stared at me, as if searching my face for even the slightest trace of pretense—resentment, regret, bitterness.
She found none. Her fingers slowly loosened around the bank card.
"You've really changed, Charles."
I smiled faintly. "People always do."
She hesitated for a long time, but in the end, she still let me walk her home.
On the way, the rain began to fall again, soft and steady.
As we passed through the narrow, slippery alleys of the old district, she walked slowly.
The air was filled with the damp, earthy scent of rain-soaked walls, mixed with the aroma of stew drifting from some unseen kitchen.
"Charles."
She suddenly stopped, her voice sounding distant through the rain.
"Do you... regret it?"