Hartley was bandaged up and looking horribly broken as he was curled around Cisco’s shirt and pillow in the bed that Len had tucked him into, his nose buried in the scent of Cisco. Hartley had been refusing food and even Griffin couldn’t seem to get him out of his slump. Technically, he was okay to start walking around but the depression that had set in was far worse than the physical repercussions.
Cisco had no idea where Len had taken Hartley to recover, so naturally, he tracked his cell phone. He’d gotten the address and let his GPS take him to the location, some homemade soup and some hot cider sitting in the passenger seat for Hartley. He pulled his phone out and sent Hartley a quick text to make sure he was in the right place.
I think I’m here. [picture of building] Please tell me this is the right place. Or I’m at least close.
