Marlowe
I spent the following morning combing through the medical bay's old records with Bear, searching for anything that might explain Preacher's cryptic reference to something that started long before I ever arrived — old patient files, supply requisitions, anything that might reveal a pattern neither of us had thought to look for before now.
"Here," Bear said, pulling a folder from the back of a cabinet that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. "Supply orders from before my time in this club. Preacher's signature on all of them, obviously — he's run this medical bay longer than almost anyone else still active. But look at this."
He spread several requisition forms across the desk, each one requesting medical supplies in quantities that seemed considerably higher than what th
