Page 324 - Anonymous
P. 324
little brawn. He looks tired, his
shoulders slumped. He's handsome in a
Benedict Cumberbatch kind of way. Far
too stoic for my taste.
"Hey, Sinclair," he greets. He's
always insisted on calling me by my full
name. Up close, I notice the dark bags
around his eyes, a clear indication that he
hasn't been sleeping well.
