TMA Appreciation Week, August 11: Scottish Safehouse
Spoilers up to MAG 160.
The first morning was odd.
They’d fallen asleep in the single bed with barely a protest. Someone had mumbled something about the worn-out sofa in the other room, but Jon couldn’t even recall which of them had.
They’d lain down in the manky clothes they’d worn in the Lonely and on the train and trekking through the Highlands at fuck-o-clock in the morning, too.
Jon could smell himself. He was ripe. Quietly as he could, he slid out of bed.
