Which opened the door to a thousand questions, if not more. He was about to ask, about to pry what that meant, but the look in Jackson's eyes stopped him dead. They had turned glossy; like a graveyard of restless souls, the look that momentarily morphed his face could only be described as haunted.

He ended up buttoning his lips real fast.

"So would it be against my rules to choose to wear them then?" Sly asked. For some reason, that wounded look the other man had reflected had unnerved him. It had sent a pang of pain straight through his chest like a javelin. His words came out distorted...