Trent leaned back with his buttocks against the sink's edge, wrinkling his nose. "Smells like rancid piss in here," he griped.
"Probably is," V replied, stapling the wristband together. Trent's badge stood out, pinned to the cloth on the kitchen table where the guide sat. "This ain't exactly the Marriott."
"I figured it wouldn't matter which bui…