Sinclair shifts to settle his weight a little more comfortably against the door frame, prepared to listen. When he was younger, it always helped to be able to talk his dreams out. Usually trying to describe them pointed out a lot of the absurdities and it eliminated the cold uneasiness that had settled over him as he slept. But it had been years since the last dream he remembered, longer still since his last nightmare. He just assumed he didn't sleep long enough to have them anymore.

"What was it about?"