“Let's go lil' Cracker,” he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and dragging me back around to the entry of the old pub. “And no, it's not because you're white.” Cocking my head at the strange comment, I turn my gaze to Lake next to me, who drags his hands down his face at his friend, following a step behind us, before it clicks. “It's because I'm stale,” I grumble, still glaring at the guy who's constantly digging his own grave.
