Lost

Newcomer

    Following Enzo, we reach the bar where I first met Ash. Standing a little off to the side of the door, a man is leaning his back against the wall, sipping a drink he must have ordered from inside.

    He’s tall and slim, thinner than Ash and the boys, but his muscles are still noticeable through his buttoned up dark purple shirt. His black hair matches his black jeans and boots, a stark contrast against his pale skin.

    Approaching him, we keep our guards up in case this is another trap. When we’re a few feet away, he looks up, eyes going wide when they meet mine.

    “It’s really you. I didn’t believe it at first, but I had to be certain… you’re… alive.” Even through his whisper, his accent is clear.

    Is he British?

    Before I can say anything, Ash beats me to it.