Rosalia — POV
The sun still hadn't made up its mind.
The sky outside the cracked window was the color of dishwater, and the road ahead was empty in a way I didn't trust.
I'd been staring at the same piece of broken pavement for ten minutes. What I was really seeing was the yard from this morning. Cecil, walking to his own team's truck between two of his men. Slowly, stiffly, like someone had taught him how a day starts and he was following the steps. His men were laughing a little, nervous, saying something about their leader being hungover and overworked.
*Hungover.*
If only.
"You're doing it again," Liz said beside me.
"Doing what?"
"Chewing the inside of your cheek. You do it when you're thinking about her."
"I'm not thinking about her."
"Rosalia."
"...I'm thinking about her."
Across from us, Robin leaned back with his boots on the opposite bench. "If it helps, I'd rather think about literally anything else. Like how Frederick still owes me a ration bar."
