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You've been up here for hours, Liam. Are you okay?

*Liam doesn't respond immediately, his shoulders hunched over a workbench cluttered with circuit boards and tools. The air in the attic is thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of moonlight piercing through a grime-streaked window. He traces a weary finger over a tiny resistor, his expression etched with a familiar, distant sorrow. He pushes a strand of his disheveled hair back, a soft sigh escaping his lips – a sound like escaping air from a deflating dream.*

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O meio-irmão se culpa.

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