"Professor's going to be fucking thrilled." A voice from the front, riding high on it. The words came through the seats muffled, almost cheerful.
The car was moving. That was all we had. No windows, no light, just the vibration of the road coming up through the metal into my shoulder and the smell of bodies packed into a space built for luggage. Sweat. Blood. The sour edge of whatever Trapper had been drinking.
The air itself felt used up, recycled between us in short, shallow pulls. My bound wrists pressed into the small of my back. The wheel arch dug against my other shoulder every time the car took a corner.
"I honestly thought we were coming back with nothing," another one said. "A whole hour. I was already working out what I'd tell him."
"And you tricked that fool as well."
They all went, the whole front of the car laughing at once. The laughter bounced around the confined space of the boot and came back thinner, uglier.
Beside me, Trapper shifted his shoulder.
