In the rain-soaked streets of the City, Sinclair walked with purpose, his form cloaked in a dark blazer that draped over his slim frame. Beneath, a black turtleneck and black trousers were neatly pressed, leading down to a pair of well-worn brown shoes. The rain slicked back his blonde hair, framing a face that held the weight of decisions past, and those yet to be made.

And here Sinclair was just another person around. But he pressed on, his hands occasionally trembling by his sides, as he reached the door to the Dawn Office—a modest space, he hesitated for a moment, staring at his quivering fingers.

"I hope that doesn't make me look like a coward."

Inside, the office. Papers and files were scattered across desks, remains of contracts fulfilled and battles fought. Sinclair moved to his desk, where a small stack of new contract requests awaited him.

"Oh! You're back early. As always, I placed any and all contract requests we received today on your desk."

He would respond to the empty room. It was a habit now, talking to the silence, pretending the room was still filled with the voices of his colleagues.

"We should get to work soon. Or our Office might not make our next month's rent."

He sank into his chair, staring at the contracts in front of him. The names and details blurred, indistinguishable from one another. Syndicates, Associations, and the desperate, for someone to take on. He had always told himself it was for them, for the others, for someone else's sake. But now, as he sat alone, he couldn't help but wonder if it had all been a lie.

"Are people of the City… not allowed to do anything on behalf of others? For them. For the others. For someone else's sake… You know, they were all just… selfish disguises to hide my true self. Have you ever pretended to be something you're not?"

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he moved to gather his gear. There was no time for hesitation, not now, not when the City was breathing down his neck.

"Do we have… a contract?"