The air inside the garage is thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and antiseptic. Thorne leans against the table, his body hunched forward as Claudia rifles through her med kit. His upper bicep is wrapped in a bloody bandage, the stitches fresh but holding. He doesn’t make a sound, though his jaw is tight, his face a stone mask as if pretending the pain doesn’t exist will make it so.
Across the room, Gerardo winces as Claudia finishes tightening the fresh dressing on his leg. She mutters something about how he should be thankful she’s here to keep his sorry ass intact, but he doesn’t respond. His knuckles are white against the chair, and his eyes are locked on the far wall like it might swallow him whole.
I sit in a chair near the corner, running my hand through my hair and
