Evan had been dragging himself to and from work with as little enthusiasm as humanly possible; he was going through the motions but it was out of obligation and not desire. He hated being out after dark—hated all the shadows, all the youma, all the people. He kept his bag tucked close to him and, with each new step cursed what luck he had.

He should have gotten a driver's license so he could just drive everywhere, but that meant nothing when he didn't have a car. A bike, maybe. But someone would just steal it. Taxis were expensive, and Zack had yelled at him for wasting so much money, and when things got bad he sometimes took the bus—even though he hated being stuck in a little box with strangers.

But he wanted to get home, to Zack; he couldn’t even be mad that he wasn't getting picked up tonight. Zack was back—and roughed up, but he wouldn't talk about what had happened and Evan didn't care. He had dinner to cook, and if Cambria wasn't already pampering Zack, he'd do that, too.

And if he hurried, he might even avoid the rainclouds that kept thundering in the distance.

Kaefaux