Under the soft glow of moonlight, a lonely figure rested on a rooftop. His blade was clasped in his grip, the tightness of it betraying his unease and suppressed emotions, which Sinclair tried not to show on his face. His eyes were glued to the ground, a rush of unsettling thoughts passed through his troubled mind. How much he wanted to just close his eyes and stop this meaningless overthinking, to be more like others, not delving in too deep... But he couldn't. He kept thinking of this duality of his mind, the wish to never have to touch the blade again and to cut through the flesh just one more time— Oh, how wrong it was.

He shook his head, trying to focus on guarding and watching, when he heard that familiar sound of the quiet steps nearing him from behind. Sinclair's eyes darted to the side, his body shifting, as he finally caught the other's figure.

"Oh. Hello... Shouldn't you be sleeping?"