At first glance, Simon Larsen looked like a man adrift. The hunch in his shoulders, the five-day stubble. He wore a stained hoodie and the trackpants stretched over his waist had seen better days. He was tallish without being quite tall, and beefy without being exactly fat. His eyes, once a sharp blue, were watery and faded with pouches underneath, like small, hairless caterpillars napping. His hair, already silver, was scruffy and his face was puffy and grey. He seemed aimless. That would be an understandable assumption, from the look of him.
But if you thought that, you’d be wrong.
Okay, he might not have a burning goal that ignited his energy and imagination and saw him leaping out of bed in the morning before the alarm. He’d had those in the past, yes. He was once driven and striving; he was once a person who made plans. That past Simon was someone he could barely recognise. But right now, there was something he did absolutely need
