The morning in Cassandra was cleaner than in his own memory, whether it was the distant, relatively shallow clouds or the sleek stone walls beside him, washed by the rain.
Well, perhaps it was Lyle's illusion; nothing in Cassandra had changed.
At best, it was only under Mr. Ralph's influence that everything seemed much brighter.
When dawn was yet to come, and he had just been teleported back from Andrey's place, lying in bed for less than twenty minutes, his cheap uncle Ralph knocked on Lyle's door. The shadow under the hat was like a bottomless dark pool, with those original lake-blue eyes now tinted with bright yellow, as if something was hiding underneath the clear surface of the water.
Ralph's presence had grown stronger, and Lyle wasn't sure if it was just his guilt for sneaking out in the middle of the night.
"There is a new job for you; your time off has ended."
"Alright, uncle, where are we going this time?"
"Not we, it's you who is going somewhere."
