Footsteps on the gravel again, this time sure and fast. Trin rolls his eyes and throws the rag at the tires stacked high along the far wall. Just what I need, he thinks as the rag falls to the floor, landing pitifully short of its goal. Can’t we take a breather here, Iss? Stop tearing at me for two minutes, please, just until I manage to get all the pieces back together again. In the morning light, the stained rag is only a shade or two lighter than the concrete floor.
He’s about to pick it up—pushes off of the truck and bends at the waist, one arm stretching out for it—when a shadow darkens the morning sunlight. He looks up, ready to tell Aissa to take it somewhere else, he’s not fighting her today, only it isn’t her in the doorway. It’s Gerrick.
The gunner is dressed in the same clothe
