Jo didn't make a move to throw herself into my waiting arms, so I stopped a few feet away, hurt by her reaction, but also so happy to see her that I didn't really care. I was probably too scary to look at with my scraps of clothing covered in miles of dirt and muck and blood, and had been dead just a few minutes before. Not like I could blame her, but she was equally decked out in blood that better not be hers, so much so that her Badass Recycler t-shirt now read Bad Cycle. That ...