[As soon as Rafe throws his bag into the back, they're off and tearing along the pitted, winding road that leads back to camp. It's not nearly as sweltering as it was earlier in the day, but still bad enough that Harry's found a pair of shorts. His kind were not bred to withstand these temperatures, and so if he doesn't have to be in jeans? Fuck it. He won't die of heat stroke, nope.

Harry meets Rafe's not-so-nice smile with a sharp-toothed one of his own. He’s proud of the whole production, even have himself a few scratches to make it look like he ran for cover from the rain of bullets . No one even suspected he was the one shooting.]

Oh, yeah, it's a wonder it hadn't happened sooner. Just terrible, blood everywhere. [He laughs, scooching his sunglasses up his impressive nose with one finger.] They dug out Rivera's bullets, but they couldn't find the painkillers. Odd, that.