The living room was empty and especially quiet at night.
Jasmine Yale propped her head up, drowsily sitting on the sofa, dozing off.
The night was very cold, and she sleepily wrapped herself tighter in the blanket, using it as a cover over her body, curled up on the sofa.
The Cheney Residence was very deserted and peaceful.
Perhaps it was the years of getting used to waiting on the sofa that allowed her to find a comfortable position to sleep in there.
Her hair covered half of her face, and she slept soundly.
When Sylvan Cheney arrived, he saw a scene all too familiar to him.
He immediately froze in place, his gaze filled with intricate and complex lights.
His eyes were dark and deep, his face expressionless.
After changing shoes, Sylvan Cheney threw his suit jacket on the armrest of the sofa.
His movements were light, but not unexpectedly, they still woke Jasmine Yale.
It was like a habit formed over many years.
