When Milo Sinclair returned, there was a chill in the air around him, and the fabric on his shoulder bore marks of being dampened by rain.
Drive, leave the old town.
Shea Thorne couldn't figure out what he had fed the man; his voice really sounded a bit strange.
"What did you stuff into his mouth?"
"Naturally something to shut him up. Don't ask what shouldn't be asked."
The car slowly drove out of the old town. Milo Sinclair removed his mask, wiped his hair—accidentally wetted—with a handkerchief, and took off his soaked coat, wearing only thin inner clothes.
Shea Thorne turned on the heater and didn't ask further.
But Milo Sinclair couldn't restrain himself. Waiting at a red light, he pinched her cheek and asked, "Are you mad?"
