The white-washed wall seemed to be bleeding profusely like Ewan's right fist when Sandro stepped into Ewan's home office.
He stood as he always did—when Ewan got this way—and watched his friend.
Ewan was sitting miserably on the floor with his head in his hands; hands stained with blood.
Sandro didn't bother to ask for a first-aid kit or hurry to get one because this imagery right here was as consistent as business in Ewan's life; a side of Ewan, many people didn't get to see.
This was the only way Ewan got rid of frustration and unexplainable feelings.
Yet Sandro was observant to note that it had increased since Athena's banishment six years ago.
And with her return, Sandro feared for his friend's knuckles.
Sighing tiredly, he shut the door behind him.
Ewan showed no indication that he knew someone was in his office with him, until Sandro sat down beside him.
"What do you have for me, Sandro?"
