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He's back in under an hour, again perched on her window sill as casually as he appeared at the beginning of the night.

He stuffs his hands in the beaten up bomber jacket he's managed to find and gives her a smirk while he makes himself known, "Am I on time?" It would have taken less time had he not had to go hit up one of the safehouses across town to find the deep brown coloured contacts he's wearing now. At least they match the wig he found buried somewhere in the same safehouse, it's a tad bit longer than his normal hair and shaggier but he's chosen it because it makes it harder for people to see his eyes. With the dark jeans and beaten up sneakers he has on, he looks like the typical teenager you'd see on the streets at night, no doubt up to no good.