Joe caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass door, the faint grey ghost of a figure reaching forward to grasp the brass handle. Joe grinned and felt a quick self-conscious laugh as the faded vision reminded him he didn’t look half bad. “I should get a haircut,” he murmured, pushing the curly mop of hair back from his forehead. “Next week,” Joe finished, shaking his head, contemplating his schedule. A tug erased the image and led him back inside the tall office building.
Lord Malinov, Journals of Lord Malinov