"I got your letter," Jonah said, stepping closer. "You said 'they are waking up.' Who is 'they'? And why call me now?"
He looked older than time itself. His skin was the texture of crumpled paper, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones. His hair was a wild shock of white. But his eyes—his eyes were the same. One was a piercing, electric blue. The other was clouded over, milky white, constantly darting around the room as if tracking something invisible. Uncle Shom Part 1