Chapter Thirteen: Ghost in the Machine
The citrus solvent had stopped smelling clean. It smelled like failure now, like the chemical ghost of things that wouldn’t come out.
Finn was on his knees in the middle of the garage bay, scrubbing at a patch of concrete that was already spotless, his knuckles white around the stiff bristles of the brush. He’d been at it for twenty minutes. The circular motion was a mantra, a stupid, physical prayer: erase, erase, erase.
The midday sun was a