Night had covered the whole of New York, and in Queens in the dark back room of the Huanghou Qu Lianhua safe house, Arslan finally opened his eyes, waking up from the long sleep he was in.
The pounding in his skull had faded to a manageable ache behind his eyes. The violent shake in his hands was completely gone, replaced by stiffness in his fingers.
He sat up, put on his Timbs and swung them onto the cold floor, and laced them tight. The high of the pills that made him sick in the first place was gone, but his natural focus was back to him, cold and steady.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the room where everyone was in. The atmosphere there was completely different from the one that was in the morning.
