Ethan Chandler

The rain had stopped, and yet nothing in London smelled clean. The smell of blood and vomit filled his nostrils, not unusual in a city full of suffering and opium dens. Ethan had just left Dorian Gray’s establishment,he hadn’t gone there to party, but merely to have a conversation, an insightful one. Instead, he could still hear the other man’s amused laughter echoing in his mind and taste the bitter absinthe on his lips. Hardly anyone knew him in this city, and yet he constantly felt as if he were being watched… followed, as if someone knew his secret while everyone else’s remained hidden from him.

“If you’re looking for directions, you’ve picked the wrong American... but go ahead… I’m listening.” He didn’t turn around, sometimes it was better not to look directly at whatever was following you.