The truck Guilermo had scavenged was barely holding together. Every pothole sent a shudder through the chassis that vibrated straight up my spine and settled into my broken shoulder. The suspension squealed like a dying animal, mirroring the state of my own body. My left arm, still bound tight, throbbed with a dull, heavy pulse. But the physical pain was a distant second to the ache in my chest.
The bond felt bruised. It wasn't the warm, fluid connection it used to be. It felt tender, like a muscle that had been torn and stitched back together wrong.
We crossed the border into the industrial zone as the sun began to dip, painting the smog-choked sky in shades of bruise-purple and charcoal.
"We need a place to regroup," Guilermo said. His voice was rough, scratching against the silence t
