The silence stretched so long he almost took the question back. It’d been a dark time for his friend.
“Of course I do.” Roz said. “It was your prayer that got me off that ledge, brother.”
“Thank God,” he whispered.
“That was the start of us. Me with my pitchfork and you with your halo.”
Something hard and hollow thumped down in front of him, and a cup of bold roast coffee that jolted him more awake.
He wrapped his hands around the mug, fingering the chips and dents before he muttered, “Thanks.”
The silence in the small apartment wasn’t the comfortable kind.
Gage brought the mug to his lips and took a cautious sip. It singed his tongue, burned down his throat, and settled in his gut like a hot stone.
The coffee was bitter and too robust, the same way Roz used to make it when he had to pull a twelve-hour hustle on the streets.
Gage didn’t call it out, but he picked up an alcohol-laced scent drifting from Roz’s cup.
The quiet stretched.
“What time is it?” He finally asked.
“Almost ten.”
Gage leaned over, inhaled his plate and turned it clockwise.
Eggs there, bacon here, toast on the other side. He took a bite, and despite the char, the chalky eggs hit the spot.
They both ate in silence. Gage didn’t know what else there was to say.
Last night, he’d told Roz all he knew after being taken from the prison infirmary and waking in the facility—the experiments, aggressive doctors, the anxious businessmen who checked in three to four times a week, demanding results.
He confessed to the weird strength, heightened awareness, and experiencing new sounds as sharp as blades forged in fire.
He told him about White Sector, and being strapped to a table like an animal for three months, and the promises of helping those in need instead of finishing his prison time.
But there were still parts he’d avoided. Names he excluded.
Scar.
He had no idea how to explain that extreme coincidence.
Besides, Roz would swear Scar had masterminded the whole thing, and he didn’t need his best friend in revenge mode. He needed him to develop a strategy.
If anyone could help him figure out how to repair the ruins of his life, it was him.
“I think we should find this shady facility and level that motherfucker,” Roz growled. “Find the kidnappers that did this to you, torture the truth outta them, and take their damn eyes before I put ’em six feet under.”
Gage sighed. “Oh yeah? You and what army?”
“I don’t need an army to take down a bunch of old-ass scientists,” Roz said, slamming his fist down on the table.
Gage didn’t flinch.
“Let’s go back. For real. You say the word, and we hit the road within an hour. I ain’t got shit left in Chicago anyway.”
“Don’t you have a job?”
