DAMON'S POV
I slammed the hood of the patrol truck down so hard the latch rattled against the iron frame. A mechanic across the garage jumped, dropping his wrench onto the concrete floor with a loud clang. I didn't apologize to him. I wiped the dark motor oil from my fingers with a rag, threw it into a trash bin, and checked the clock on the back wall. It was barely eight in the morning, which gave me sixteen hours before midnight.
Outside the garage doors, the whole compound looked like an armed camp. Victor had doubled every patrol around the outer fences, and men with rifles marched across the gravel every ten minutes. I walked past them toward the main house, keeping my head down. Before heading up to my room, I slipped down the basement stairs to check the wooden box under the pipes
