No neon lights 2

Martha shifted beside me, the plastic chair groaning under her weight. She took another slow sip of beer, letting the silence hang between us. I could feel her gaze now, studying me. Just a quiet curiosity, the kind that came from someone who had seen enough people pass through these sands to know when someone was running from something.

Finally, she tipped her bottle toward me.

"You gonna tell me about that arm?"

I tensed, the fingers of my mechanical hand flexing automatically.

I hadn't realized I was still gripping my knee.

I forced myself to relax, shifting slightly as I let my fingers unfurl. The metal gleamed in the afternoon sun, a patchwork of scavenged parts and desperation. It wasn't pretty. It wasn't clean. But it worked. Mostly.

I exhaled. "Made it myself."

Martha let out a sharp breath through her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval.