I didn't sleep.
The photograph sat on Ghost's workbench like a live grenade. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it — my face, caught mid-step, rain dripping off my scrubs. Four days ago. They'd been close enough to take a picture. Close enough to do worse.
At dawn, I gave up on sleep and walked to the garage.
Wolf was already there, straddling his bike with a rag in one hand and a grin already forming before he looked up. "You look like s**t, Nurse Sinclair."
"Thanks."
"That wasn't an insult. It was an observation." He tossed the rag onto a workbench and stood. Brown curls fell across his forehead. Twenty-five years old and he still looked like a kid who'd stolen his older brother's cut. "Ghost showed you the photo."
"How did you—"
"Because you've got the same look I had the first t
