There's blood on her cheek. On the dog's paws, too.

When I call out to her, I'm careful not to startle her, because she looks ready to crumble into pieces. Shit's been hard for her, for Jax, for weeks. I actually can't remember if I've ever seen her look relaxed.

"Tara?" I take a couple steps closer. "Hey, what's goin' on?"