The evening air had a sharp, biting chill to it. Evelyn gently pulled a thin, white knit coat over Clara's small shoulders, adjusting her hood before leading her out of the grand gates of the Sin Estate.
Waiting by the curb was Michael's sleek black car. He was leaning against the driver's side door, smoke swirling from a cigarette. He had been waiting for more than ten minutes in the cold, yet his face showed absolutely no sign of impatience. The moment his eyes landed on the small, bundled figure of Clara, the harsh, rigid lines of his face instantly melted into something incredibly soft.
"Clara," he called out gently.
"Uncle!" Clara's face lit up with pure joy. She immediately wrenched her tiny hand out of Evelyn's grasp and sprinted toward him with all the reckless energy of a three-year-old.
