The smell in here was vaguely sour, tinged with exhaust and oil. Dust flew thick and heavy, forcing me to wave it away from my face in order to breathe. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to how the League had stacked and sorted. I felt the first spark of temper hit me and turned to find Cole walking across the building.

Liam stood, his hands on his hips, eyes lit with something I didn’t understand. He didn’t seem daunted in the slightest now that the initial shock had worn off. There was an eagerness in its place. Somehow, he was seeing something I wasn’t—some sort of potential.

I mostly just saw red.

“This is a huge job!” I called after his brother. “Cole! He’s not going to do it by himself.”

“Obviously,” Cole hollered back. “He’s allowed to take some of the younger kids who won’t be training. His bosom buddy—the one that always looks like he’s got a bug up his ass.”

I started after him. “They’re not going to do this for you overnight—we should all be helping—!”

A clatter of metal against the concrete made me look back. Liam had moved on from the car to a nearby pile of bikes that were tangled together like brambles. He picked through frames and spokes and wheels, working carefully, trying to get down to whatever he’d seen under them. I stepped over a downed floor lamp to help him. I saw a flash of silver, then my fingers brushed against a tire. Liam let out a breathless laugh, working twice as fast now, his smile practically contagious.

“What is it?” I asked as we hauled it upright. “A dirt bike?”

He was vibrating with excitement, his hands flying over its sleek body, brushing away the dirt and dust. “Oh, man,” he breathed out. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“I’ll take your word for it....” I said.

It looked like a hybrid of a dirt bike and a motorcycle. Apparently I wasn’t that far off, because Liam explained, talking fast, “It’s a dual-sport motorcycle. It has the capabilities of a dirt bike for off-roading, but see? It has mirrors and a speedometer for streets. It looks like it’s a...yeah, a Suzuki. Wow. I’m kinda freaking out—”

“I know.” I laughed. “I can tell. Do you think it’ll actually run?”

Liam was inspecting it with reverent hands, stroking its every inch. “It looks like it’s in decent shape. They beat the hell out of it, didn’t treat her nice. Might be an easy fix.” He looked up and saw my expression. “What?”

“Do you actually know how to ride?”

“Do I know how to ride?” Liam scoffed, leaning over the bike’s seat so his face was inches from mine. His pale blue eyes were electric with his excitement; they sent a charge through me, dissolving the rest of the world into peaceful, quiet static. That last bit of distance must have been as unbearable to him as it was to me, because his fingers came down over where my hands rested on the busted leather seat. I felt his touch spread over my skin like late-afternoon sunshine. His lips skimmed my cheek, his breath warm against my ear as he said in low, honeyed tones, “Not only can I ride, darlin’, but I can give you a few pointers—”

“Hey, Hell’s Angels!” Cole barked. “I didn’t bring you in here to shop around for yourselves! Get your asses over here!”

Liam’s expression clouded over as he pulled back, the fluttering excitement vanishing like a candle blown out with a single breath. I must have looked as disappointed as I felt, letting out a small sound of irritation, because just like that he was smiling again as he tucked a loose strand of hair back over my ear. A softer, smaller smile than before, but one meant for me. It warmed me down to my bones.

After a moment of making sure the kickstand would hold the dirtbike up, he used his shirt to wipe the grime from his hands. I took the hand he offered, giving it a squeeze. With one last glance over his shoulder at his find, we made our way to where Cole stood in front of a towering stack of pallets. We were right behind him when I finally made the connection and realized what we were looking at.

I’d seen cardboard boxes like this before, and recognized the phrasing printed along the outside: 10 X 24 HOURS RATIONS GP NATO/OTAN APPROVED.

“What are we looking at, exactly?” Liam asked.

“Humanitarian rations,” I said, cutting Cole off. I felt hollow at the sight. “Do you know what country they’re from?”

“You’ve seen these before?” Cole asked, brows raised. “The government has this stuff under lock and key. They didn’t take any of this crap to HQ, either.”

“It was in...” I released Liam’s hand, stepping closer to the boxes so I wouldn’t have to see his face as I said, “It was when we were in Nashville. The military was housing food and medical supplies in an old airport hangar.”

The raid was like a night tide in my memory. It constantly seeped up from the darkest corners of my mind to catch me off guard, lay me low. Liam, so pale as he struggled to breathe. The knife in my back. Jude’s quiet bravery as he stepped out in front of all of us and sent electricity shooting toward the soldiers. Losing sight of the others. Rob. The muzzle. Blood on a broken windshield.

I turned my back on the boxes and pallets, but forced myself to stand still until the crushing weight lifted off my chest and I could breathe again. It was getting harder to outrun its reach.

“Okay,” Liam said finally, “but where did this stuff come from? And how old is it?”