If Fresco's heart didn't recognize Garris, his mind would have doubted. As badly as he looked in the hospital

the memory surged back diamond clear, the stench of burned flesh and antiseptic, and the beaten look on the man's face

it was nothing compared to now. Garris was always thin, but the emaciated and sunken shell of a man who huddled in the chair far more resembled one of the Wasted kids he used to shelter than the tall and expressive man Fresco learned to respect, ...