Covers were each their own people. They had their own interests, dislikes, and relationships. Unlike actors, who could put down or pick up characters on command, covers, once set aside, were better left dead. It didn’t do to allow a past cover to bleed into a present one – that was a good way to end up dead – which was why Camila was surprised that her legs had brought her here to this particular location. It had been as if she’d been operating on autopilot ever since leaving the shop just an hour ago. It had been a long day, not unlike any of the other long days she’d had recently. She’d fended off unwanted advances from some of the guys who worked there and rolled her eyes at the customers who’d taken one glance at her and made some sort of snarky remark about her ability as a mechanic based on the fact that she was a woman. Men never learned. She’d come to understand that early on, and being in a male dominated field, she almost expected to have her expertise undermined by those around her. It didn’t stop her from saying something crude, throwing up the finger, and going on to prove that she was definitely as good as – if not better – than the guys who were worked at the shop. One of these days one of those guys would say something that annoyed her just a little too much and she’d end up with a fist in someone’s face, but thankfully, tonight was not that night. Fingers drumming on the countertop, Camila muttered half under her breath, “men are really something else. I’d give my last dollar to have them all neutered.”