Thirteen's POV
With my left arm stuck back in a sling, I use my right to hold myself up as I lean against one of the pillars leading into the restaurant.
But instead of walking in I'm facing the street. The long white dress Ryder had me wear is stained in the front-this is why I don't usually wear white-and my feet are killing me from standing in these heels for way too long.
The slight breeze has my hair blowing in my face but I don't have a free hand to brush it away since I'm using that arm to keep my balance as I keep all pressure off my right leg.
Red and blue lights dance across my field of vision as I stare-or rather-glare out at the half a dozen police cars and standard FBI vehicles parked on the street in front of the restaurant.
In case you haven't guessed it, this is all R
