Kendall likes to pretend he doesn’t hear it.
The crack of a bullet, that stray shot- not even all that stray.
. Echoing a mile off.
That it doesn’t stick out over the crunch of passing boots beyond the thinned walls of the Outpost’s headquarters.
The rustle of excessive documentation and the harsh click of a terminal in the back.
But it’s still almost as loud as the graphite that snaps, a jolt beneath his hand. The one that makes his teeth grind, eyes to the veiny-fractures of the ceiling.
for the calm thing. He does. A slow breath in, a slow breath out.
Ends with him splintering the piece of wood in two, flinging them across the counter. A silent clatter against the backdrop noise of the wind picking up, a groaning force that quakes the roof.
The Mojave knew how to slice into bone when it wanted to.
And that should be an uninvited reminder he has it pretty easy at the moment, considering. But
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