The inside of the motel looked worse than the outside.
The lighting was low and uneven, panels flickering where the wiring couldn't decide if it wanted to work or not. The air smelled like recycled coolant, old food, and something metallic that had soaked into the walls years ago. The floor tiles didn't match, replaced in sections with different materials, different eras. Whoever owned the place fixed things only when they stopped working completely.
The receptionist sat behind a thick counter made of reinforced plastic and patched steel. He froze the moment Xavier stepped fully into view.
Xavier's face was still a mess. The bandages were gone now, and what they'd been hiding wasn't subtle. Torn flesh along the cheek, exposed structure near the jaw, discoloration around one eye that hadn't healed right yet. Anyone with eyes could tell something catastrophic had hit him, and anyone with a functioning brain could tell he shouldn't be standing there breathing.
