Griffin walked toward J Hall, her arms full of folded laundry. She would deposit it neatly in the Hunters' wardrobes and dressers. Griffin wasn't sure why she bothered, most of it would end up in the piles on the floor anyway.

She'd seriously never met a messier group of girls anywhere. If one existed, Griffin didn't want to know about it.

Griffin was on her third hall, and when she was done here, she would tromp all the way back to the wash for C Hall's things. She'd be lucky to be done by noon, and after that she'd get to help scrub the kitchen.

Back home, people held doors open for her, because she was a Delaney.

Here, she was lucky if she could get two days a week where her hands didn't reek of cooking fat.

Griffin couldn't really see over the bobbling pile of laundry in her arms, but her peripheral vision told her she was almost there. Once you passed the utility closet on the right, you had two more paces before you had to take a big step over the wonky brick in the floor.

She was just preparing to take that step when someone slammed into her, knocking her to the floor and scattering the clothes.

"Dammit!" she yelled, and turned to see which careless bitch was responsible for the sudden sharp pain in her elbow and backside.

"Is that Seth?" she wondered as she watched the figure scurrying away down the hall. That didn't make much sense. B Hall was clear across the Abbey. Of course, the B Hall girls had been hanging out with Rafferty before… you know.

Still, it gave Griffin pause. Seth could be…. intense. Griffin didn't fancy a one on one confrontation with her when no one else was around.

She noticed a small, wet red mark on the floor. And then another. And another, trailing after the disappearing Hunter.

The laundry forgotten, Griffin got up and ran toward J Hall.

************************************************************************************

The Shop was a small room on the first floor of the Abbey. There were tools and equipment, and four large tables for work. Bobby had been in the Shop since very early in the morning. Holden had complained about a clasp on the back of her chest plate, said it was biting into her neck. He was trying to adjust it without unbalancing the gear. He could have passed it off to the Engineers, but they would ask too many questions, and Bobby liked working with his hands. Truth be told, he preferred not to leave Holden's safety up to anyone else any more than he had to.

He had been alone for most of the morning, but about an hour ago the Triplets had wandered in. They weren't really doing anything, but that was hardly news.

Bobby reminded himself to be nice. The very thought of losing Holden made him feel unsteady, like falling through darkness. Caleb was facing a tidal wave of grief and an uncertain future, the last thing he needed was judgement from Bobby regarding his work ethic.

Still, the B Hall boys weren't lounging around doing nothing the way they usually did. They were standing, fidgeting, and watching the door. The part of Bobby that wasn't focused on the clasp was beginning to wonder what was up.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Bobby looked up when he heard the door open and someone run into the room. It was Seth. She was fully geared up. She was agitated.

And the blades on her right claw were bloody.

"Did it work?" Erick asked.

"No. We have to go. Now," Seth said.

Whatever was going on, it wasn't good. An idea of what it was, one that Bobby didn't like very much, was already forming in his head.

Seth's eyes flicked toward him.

The Jack part of Bobby's mind knew there was an axe on the wall three paces away, that Seth almost always led with her left hand, and that the armored part of her outfit stopped about an inch above her hip.

But it also knew that if Seth decided she needed to shut him up, she would be able to.

So he turned his attention back to the clasp.

The group filed out of the room. Bobby noticed that Conner and Caleb each picked up a large duffel bag.

Bobby figured it would take them about nine seconds to make their way down the hall and onto the stairwell.

He counted to ten before he got up and started moving.

***********************************************************************

John Grubb had been under the truck for most of the last three hours, but he thought that things were starting to come together. She'd been in pretty rough shape when they brought her over this morning, but now he was confident she was nearly up and running.

This was really a motor pool job, but when the boys over there were stumped, they had, of course, come to him.

He didn't mind. It wasn't like he could just let the old girl flounder. It was also possible that he had added a few hours to his estimate. Just enough time to take the truck on a quick trip to Falls Rock, where he may just happen to run into Anne.

Only to make sure the truck was running fine, of course.

John was studying the starter, deciding whether or not he should replace it with another from his special stash, when he heard heavy footsteps.

Sliding out from under the truck, he saw a group sprinting toward one of the other cars, maybe a dozen yards away.

It was the Van Zandt girl and the Triplets. John watched as they threw two large bags into the back seat and scrambled into the car. Something wasn't right.

That car was used for short trips and deliveries. It hadn't been outfitted or reinforced for trips to the Breaks. They could have been assigned some local errand, of course, but one girl and three Jacks was an unusual combination.

There was also the obvious matter that most trips around here didn't start with a terrified dash to the vehicle.

Still, it wasn't John's place to stop them. Even if he'd been so inclined, he didn't know how he'd go about it, short of standing in front of the car.

As he watched them speed away from this Abbey, however, he was acutely aware that this was something that Max and the Priory would want to know.

He took a last, wistful look in the direction of Falls Rock, and hoped maybe they wouldn't spend too much time asking questions.

***************************************************************************

Brighton Powell had just opened for the morning when a young man walked through the door. Brighton had never seen him before. He had glanced around the room, Brighton thought he looked nervous, and then whistled. A moment later, three more people came through through the door.

The girl was a Hunter from the Sand Castle. You could just tell.

Once, a very long time ago, at the tail end of a particularly successful scavenging trip, a younger and thinner Brighton had happened upon a group of Hunters taking on a God.

There was no doubt he should have kept driving, a point which had been brought home when the behemoth started to launch explosive rockets. He hadn't, though. Brighton had parked the car, gotten out, and climbed on the hood to watch the whole show. A girl with long brown hair had sailed through the air, Brighton thought she must have covered fifty yards easy, and sliced off part of the thing's face.

It was perhaps the most beautiful and terrible thing he'd ever seen, and he doubted very much that he would ever forget it.

Brighton had had Hunters at his place a few times, although there was usually more than one. The group claimed a table in the corner, and he walked over to see what they would like.

"We're thirsty, but we don't have any money," the girl said.

She was trying her best to do an innocent, doe-eyed thing. She wasn't very good at it.

There was something underneath that look, though, something like anxiety mixed with anger, that Brighton didn't want to tempt. He nodded, and smiled, and brought back four glasses.

These kids were far from home, and didn't know where to go or what to do. When you were in this business for this long, you could just tell that, too. They needed help.

When he went to refill their drinks, Brighton sighed. This is what Bixby was for. Bixby would have sat at the table, drank with them, pulled a shot glass or two of out thin air, and gotten the whole story. By the end of the day, they all would have been best friends, and Bixby, good hearted soul that he was, would have set them on the right path. Or at least one where there was a chance no one would get hurt.

Brighton returned to the table, and she asked him if he knew anyone that might have work for a girl who could fight. Really fight.

There was a name Brighton had been hearing lately. A new name. He didn't like the things he'd heard.

He looked at the girl, not wanting to put her on this path, and saw the look in her eyes again. Tension and rage, just a hair below the surface. What he wanted most, Brighton realized, was to get her out of his bar.

In the end, he only hesitated a moment before giving her the name.