Layla’s POV
Days passed. The compound looked like a war zone. Broken walls, shattered windows, black marks from the fire. But we worked. Every day, from sunup to sundown, we worked.
I helped where I could. Carried wood. Swept glass. Made food for the men. Simple things. Small things. But they kept my hands busy and my mind quiet.
The men worked harder. Grizz directed crews. Spider hauled debris with one good arm. Even Rico, propped on crutches, his leg gone below the knee, helped where he could.
His face haunted me. The pain in his eyes. The way he looked at where his leg used to be. But he didn't complain. None of them did. They were Reapers. They rebuilt.
The day of the burial came too fast. We drove to the Clark County Morgue on Durango Drive. A cold building. Sterile. Full of deat
