Godfrey entered a motel. The motel's reception lobby was small but tidy, with a worn wooden counter facing the entrance.
A faded couch sat against one wall beside a low coffee table stacked with old magazines, while a few potted plants tried to brighten the space.
Warm yellow lights cast a cozy glow over the tiled floor. Behind the counter, rows of numbered key hooks and a small clock completed the modest, welcoming room.
The receptionist squinted when she saw a pale-faced, golden-haired man with heavy bags under his eyes.
One of his eyes was just a black empty hole, a daunting sight it was. His left arm looked like it was covered by an ornate armour, but when she noticed his entire body lacked armour, it dawned on her that this young man might also lack a left arm.
He looked like the typical young man who awakened late or had a weak summon, yet decided to embark on the profession of a freelancer but ended up biting off more than he could chew.
