Sinclair drapes a red robe over his shoulders, his bandaged arms clutching their lapels. As you stride across the rooftops, you come across the young man—blade latched at his side—staring up into the night sky and taking a deep breath.

The moon is so bright today… is this… really ok? Why must I hesitate to kill?

Suddenly, he yelps the sound of your footsteps, startled by the sudden intrudance on his silent reflection.

A-ah! Um… hello?