He didn't strike. He simply leaned in close, the smell of ozone and hot metal wafting off him. "Run," he rumbled.
Leo felt a surge of heat behind his eyes. His heart rate spiked. One, two, three, breathe, he told himself. But the internal rhythm was being drowned out by a low, vibrating hum in his bones. [S1E8] Issue #108: You Won't Like Him When He's...
The neon sign above the "Lucky Clover" dive bar flickered with a rhythmic, dying buzz that matched the pounding in Leo’s head. Inside, the air was a thick soup of stale beer and cheap tobacco. Leo sat in the corner booth, his knuckles white as he gripped a glass of water. He wasn’t here to drink; he was here to hide. He didn't strike