Registry

Sylas understood Bloom's intentions immediately and didn't say a word.

Mark, though, forever in the dark, tried to pull on her sleeve, telling her to stop. He was just a perfectly useful idiot for this sort of play that Sylas didn't even have to help out.

Bloom ripped her sleeve from Mark's fingers. "Don't try to stop me. Is the fucking government going to compensate me for my broken windshield? How about the fact we almost died three times on the way here? Now when I'm finally about to make it home you've got some shit to say?!"

The soldier stood there, undeterred. He had been well-trained, and a little yelling from a woman that felt half his height wasn't going to move him.

His gaze shifted toward Sylas who was in the back seat. Sylas met his gaze without a word and the soldier couldn't seem to read anything from his expression at all.

"You say Lone Star is your home? Alright, show me your license and registration please."