Dorien froze. His grip tightened on the fabric until his knuckles turned white beneath the leather gloves.
"Where did you get this?" Dorien rasped, his voice dropping into a tense, breathless whisper.
"My daddy said you would know," the boy replied, looking straight up into Dorien’s eyes without blinking.
"What's your father's name, son?"
The boy took a ragged, shuddering breath, clutching the hem of his dirty shirt.
"His name is Marcus," the child whispered. "Marcus Hayes. He gave me this vest this morning when he could barely speak. He told me to run down the highway until I saw the bikes with the silver skull crest. He told me to find you because... because you promised him in the desert that you'd always answer when his horn blew."
The wind seemed to stop dead in the yard.