"Vance," Eliot snarled, taking another hunk out of the tree bark with cross punch. In the back of his mind, he knew he was going to get squawked at by April for scraping up his knuckles, but punching bags didn't grow on the tree he was hitting.
"Savannah's not dead. Probably not John either." Eliot glared and the world fluctuated into black and white. "Vance should be."
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omega_reality,