Danny's POV
The neon sign outside the motel buzzed like a dying insect, casting a sickly, flickering red light over the cramped room. We were covered in road dust, our clothes stained with sweat and the lingering smell of exhaust. I looked at Chadwick, the billionaire, the untouchable professor and he looked like a runaway teenager. His shirt was missing three buttons, and he was leaning against the peeling wallpaper, panting.
"I can't believe we did that," I said, a laugh escaping me.
"We did," he breathed, his eyes tracking me. He didn't look like a man with cold heart anymore. For once, he just looked… tired.
We had stopped at a 24 hour super center three miles back. It felt like a fever dream. We had bought cheap, oversized hoodies, boxes of fiery Ginger hair dye, and bags of junk
