Ross had been in more than a few dicey situations. He’d done crowd control. He’d been in some shootouts. He’d dealt with drug runners and the occasional trafficking ring. He’d never once sat in a room and waited for the worst.
He tried to play it cool and pretend faith was a thing, but every little creak and sound in the old house was a death sentence. “At least we don’t have anything in our stomachs,” he quipped.
Ash chuckled, surprising him. “Right? I think I’d have puked by now. And that wouldn’t help anyone.” He scratched Porthos behind his ears. “It’s weird though. I’ve been in this kind of situation a few times. You never get used to it.”
“You’ve sat and waited for a house to fall on you?” Ross frowned and looked over at Ash. “How does that even happen?”
“Bombs, mudslides, bombs
