The night was quiet. The desert air, thick with the heat of the day, now settled into a hushed calm. Peter had passed out hours ago in one of the motel beds, sprawled sideways, one sock half off, remote still clutched in his hand. He’d barely stirred when Nathan emerged from the bathroom, the hot water finally washing away the blood, the mud, and the weight of the past forty-eight hours.
Steam drifted out behind him as he stepped into the room with only a towel slung low around his hips, water still beading and rolling down his chest, his abs, his broad shoulders. His muscles ached, but all healed now.
He noticed Peter was out cold.
Silent.
Nathan exhaled slowly and turned toward the adjoining door to the second room. Something tugged at him—something deep and invisible, almost magneti
