When we get to the men’s quarters, Dylan
vaults onto the upper bunk against the wall and pats the space
beside him like he wants me to jump up there, too. “Careful,”
Ellington warns as Parker picks the other bunk, the one by the
door—he falls into the lower bed with an awful groan from the
mattress springs. “Look, try not to—”
“When’s dinner?” Parker asks, folding
his hands behind his head and closing his eyes. A true fighter,
he’s already napping, going to take advantage of whatever downtime
he can get.
Ellington frowns at me like he thinks I’m
going to tear apart one of the other bunks. “A few more hours,” he
tells us. “I’ll let you know when.” The way he’s doing this,
walking us around and being so damn evasive when answering our
questions, it’s aggravating, his distrust i
