Jasmine Yale's voice carried a hint of laughter, warm like a canary's song.
Yet, no matter how warm the voice was, it couldn't dispel the loneliness and chill of a winter night.
"Go to sleep early." Sylvan Cheney touched her forehead, "I'm going to take a bath."
"Hmm... you smell strongly of alcohol, go on and wash up."
Sylvan Cheney stood up, tugged at the tie around his neck, and then walked out of the bedroom.
The door closed.
In the darkness, Jasmine Yale closed her eyes again, but sleep eluded her, as if she could no longer drift off.
Soon, she heard the sound of water in the bathroom, the sound mingling with the wind outside, tracing patterns in her ears.
Jasmine Yale's waist was somewhat sore and her feet were quite swollen these days. Seeing Sylvan Cheney busy with work, she refrained from bothering him.
It's good to be home, at least Butler Santana could keep her company.
Before long, the sound of water stopped, replaced by the hum of a hairdryer.
