THERESA
Tyce stood near the gate, key in hand, scowling down at Joe, who still reeked. His lip curled in disgust. “Absolutely not,” he said flatly. “No.”
He shook his head, taking a deliberate step back, as if mere proximity to Joe might infect him. His nose scrunched. “We are not bringing him. He can walk himself out.”
Gigi let out a tired huff, slumping against the bars. Even lifting her head looked like an effort. She had nothing left.
I sighed, glancing at Joe’s limp form. Blood pooled beneath his head.
“Joe looks concussed,” I mindlinked. “He’s not walking anywhere.”
Tyce let out a heavy, suffering sigh.
I stared at Joe, trying to summon even a single emotion that might make me feel bad for him. But all I felt was exhaustion. He wasn’t a threat anymore. He was just… pathetic.
