Three or four hours pass and Sinclair wakes out of habit, sitting up and trying to remind himself of where he is. In an office in the Medical Pavilion, being valiantly guarded by...

the Dedicated Watchman asleep at his feet. Sinclair laughs to himself. He told you so.

Maybe it's the dark, or maybe it's just the fact that he's sleeping, but Jack looks younger here. He's already young, obviously, but his time in Rapture's put a few years on him. Unconscious, the stress and exhaustion melt off of him and Sinclair can almost imagine him as a normal kid, somewhere topside with a job and a family and a hobby that doesn't involve copious amounts of blood.

Rapture robbed a lot of people of a lot of things, but somehow it's worse to think of all the time that's been stolen. From anyone. That he might have stayed in Georgia, run an actual business. Or maybe he would have traveled, seen places he'd dreamed of seeing since he was a kid himself.

There's still a chance for that, though. They're still going to get out of here, and once they do he'll be free to do whatever he pleases.

Keeping that in mind, he exhales and relaxes back against the wall, watching and listening in case he needs to wake Jack up.