JULES

I stepped into the dim, heavy air of the detached garage, the heels of my boots clicking softly against the stained concrete floor.

A split second later, Damon stepped right in behind me. With one swift, heavy jerk of his massive arm, he slammed the rolling garage door all the way down.

The interior of the garage was mostly dark, save for the weak, flickering glow of a single yellow bulb dangling from a frayed black cord directly above the center of the space.

The light cast shadows over the rows of metal toolboxes, spare motorcycle tires, and machinery parts lining the walls.

Damon walked straight past me, his...