The thing about reading when you have a perpetually stressed out conscience is that you can never really focus on it for long.

But Sinclair has always been this way, unable to sit still as long as there's any sort of pressing matter at hand. He's being unreasonable, he's sure, but he can't help feeling like the time he has to escape this goddamn city is ticking away at an alarming rate.

If Ryan has a sub, he tells himself, it's not going anywhere any time soon. There's no need to rush, and it's better to be thorough in their plan than to try and hurry and get out. Doing that a second time might kill him, and that would prove rather useless.

He sets the book down and stands up, stretching. Jack is still sound asleep on the sofa just a half hour later, but every inhale is shaky. He's cold, although he's dry now. Sinclair wanders back into his room and grabs a spare blanket from the linen closet, bringing it back to drape over Jack's shivering form.

For being such a brute in the streets of Rapture, Jack maintains these childish features, but Sinclair's not sure if it's a facial expression or just his entire demeanor when he's relaxed. It'll be really good for him to get out of Rapture. They can't mess this up again.