I sigh and stretch, giving a low groan as muscles that have grown stiff with sitting too long, stretch and release. Lowering my arms, I turn and stop dead, to find Gabe staring at me intently through his tortoise shell glasses. His hand holding his pen hangs slack. “What?” I ask. “Have you found an error?” He shakes his head absently, his eyes an almost dark, gunmetal grey. “No, no, it’s all perfect so far.”
