Gods, Hontiresk has become truly insufferable in the time since I been away, I realise now. Not by becoming more irritating, or more highly-strung, or more paranoid, but just by becoming even more frustratingly reasonable than ever before. After Kesla Shoon and her companions just vanished right in front of us outside the stage door entrance to the Playhouse, and I went back upstairs to have another crack at confronting him over his idiotic choice to actually give that monstrous witch Vandryss free reign in their little … enterprise, he just smiled as I railed away at him while his bodyguards just studiously looked away around us, letting me wear myself out. Then he just nodded and apologised for her behaviour, before simply waving it off as an unavoidable consequence of his current business, and even as I protested he acted as if I was entirely overreacting. It was as though she’d merely undercut a business rival in a deal in an underhanded way, not used some twisted, demonic magic to murder dozens, maybe hundreds of people over the course of a single night.
Honestly, I could’ve punched him on the spot, I was certainly tempted. Maybe in the hope that it might actually knock some sense into him, but realistically I doubt that would work. He’s always believed in his own surety above all others’, and it looks like that’s just grown more ingrained the greater the power he’s managed to amass for himself has grown. I can’t overlook the possibility that Vandryss might have played him in some way, maybe influenced him with the dark magics at her disposal, using them to control him like a puppet, but the more I look at this the less I believe that’s really the case. He’s too much like his old self for that to be the case, just as smug and self-important and convinced that he’s in the right. Which means whatever hold she does have on him, it’s a good deal more insidious.
In the end my protestations seemed to fall on deaf ears, and he sent me away, more brusquely than I’d like. Like always I had to hold my tongue, and I just shoved right past Gubal without a word, not even looking back even though I did feel a little bad, afraid I might say or do something that I really couldn’t take back with my blood so very up as it was. Instead I just stalked off with Trouble having to genuinely scuttle along to keep up, and at least she had the good sense to hold her tongue as I led the way round backstage again. Making for the back entrance into the cellars.
At least the two former pirates on the door had the good sense not to try and stop me when they saw my face, instead just stepping aside while one of them gave the lever-catch a good yank and slid the door aside for us both. I didn’t stop until we were both through and it was rolling closed again behind, then I hissed a long, angry curse under my breath that felt worryingly hot while smoke plumed in front of my face. Trouble just stood by with her head bowed and her jaw tight, hugging her sword tight to her chest as she stood by with her back right against the wall.
She gave me a minute or two to just gather myself again, working hard to get my rage under control along with the fire churning in my core, before finally pushing away from her wall and taking a few very careful steps towards me, holding her hands out in supplication. I held my breath and just let her come, maybe clenching my jaw tighter than was really helpful but I really didn’t want to lash out, and when she finally took hold of my wrists I let her start to talk me down the rest of the way, the way she does sometimes. At least she held short of actually hugging me this time, I’m not sure I was really ready for that under the circumstances, but then she was already looking to head off down the stairs anyway, mindful to lead the way this time. I followed without any argument.
It felt no better returning to this place than the first time we got down here, the stink of terror all around us as we started to navigate our way past the various cells working at my nerves as effectively as if someone had died down here. It took a little time to locate Jammund, we finally found him in the deepest part of the lowest cellar, at the end of a low, gloomy passage ending at a now open, heavy steel door leading into what looked like some kind of dim tunnel stretching into cold darkness. He was speaking with some of his people, while others were moving in and out of the tunnel, those venturing in carrying something I couldn’t identify, either bundled in ratty tarpaulins or packed in tightly nailed boxes.
When he looked up at our approach I cut back the question on my tongue, thinking better than to ask what he was up to. Clearly something had happened since we’d been away, but he seemed reluctant to divulge what that might be, and I decided against pressing him about it. Instead I just turned on the spot and headed back up a level, intent on paying another visit to young Foxtail.
So I walked right in on that vicious bitch as she was trying to kick the poor young wizard to death. I just lost it, I swear I saw red, and the next thing I knew I had Vandryss pinned to the wall while the fire was blazing hot inside me and I could feel it barely held back from my just breathing a whole lungful right up into her face. The fact that she was so cold and infuriatingly calm just made me even angrier, enough that I almost gave up trying to hold back after all. I don’t think she really knows how close she came to death right there. And then when I finally let her down she continued to push me further … it’s a miracle I didn’t kill her in the end.
At least Gael Foxtail seemed to be in a little bit of a better mood with the pair of us than they were when I left them this morning, at least once Trouble had finished working her Holy magic to mend the worst of Vandryss’ latest atrocities. I suspect letting them know that the dwarf girl we thought had been killed turned out to be alive after all went a long way there, although I’m still glad my friend managed to hold her tongue enough even though I’m sure she wanted to just blurt out an apology for it. Honestly, I’m not sure if the half-elf really would have responded all that well to that, they’re too smart not to work out why.
In the end they thanked us for the effort, although I could still sense a certain cold aloofness in them, as though what had just happened had driven home for them what they were really going through here. I had a mind to apologise for it, but again held my tongue, less through shame than just acknowledging it’s not our place to make amends. This is all Vandryss’ doing, and I suppose Jammund and his own through her, all this blood is on her hands as much as the horror that was just committed on the Hill. So when the young wizard entirely ignored Trouble’s clumsy attempts to draw them into conversation I just stayed as I was, sat with my eyes on the door, my still itchy fingers laid on my belly so close to my sword. Ready just in case that bitch decided to come back to try again …
When Trouble was finally done I thought about just setting up camp in here so I could keep an eye on Gael and their father, but I think by this point I had just become too frustrated with the increasingly cold shoulder we were being shown. So I instead picked up the chair again and took it outside, finally planting it outside the door and then myself back in it before giving the young half-orc Vandryss left to guard the room a particularly sharp glare until they decided to back off. Once I was finally alone with my thoughts I started to go over our options, although when Trouble finally came out too I hadn’t made any real progress given how none of the options we do have look particularly appealing.
Honestly, it’s a pretty ugly mess all round, and I realise now that the best case scenario that’s actually left to us now is that we’re just forced to finally kill all of young Foxtail’s friends after all. Of course that would then result in Vandryss just murdering the wizard themselves and their father because they would now be pure liabilities, and there’d be nothing I could realistically do to stop her. This has gone far beyond the point where we could realistically just slip away in the night without doing the job hoping we could just outrun the consequences. It’s no longer just Hontiresk and his people who know about us, Kesla Shoon and her interesting crew are very aware of us now, and they’ve marked us as a threat, whether we really are or not. At this point killing them after all is just prudent.
Not that that sits very well with Trouble. Where before I was worried about her beating herself up over what she thought she had done mostly by accident, now I’m worried that she’s become too conflicted over what she hasn’t done yet. I tried to make it clear that we just don’t have a choice at this point, but it’s clear enough she’s not buying it. Perhaps I’d be offended if she did, anyway. She’s too bright, and still too good.
After that, I had half a mind to just send her on her way on the spot, at least under the cover of asking her to head back to the apartment to rejoin the others, then send Kuth over instead, and perhaps Ixen too. But in the end I didn’t have the heart to bench her after all, she may still have too strong a conscience but it’s a good thing, I know I can still trust her, and definitely rely on her if we were to run into any actual problems. It’s not like I’ve come to any actual decision yet.
Instead I simply sent her to collect something for the Foxtails to drink, perhaps some food too if she can actually scrounge anything up. Leaving me alone with my thoughts again …
Reaching inside my left boot now, I slip the dagger hidden there free and take a moment to flip it up into the air, letting it spin twice before catching it underhand before it can hit the floor. I give it another little toss, this one more gentle, simply letting it turn over before catching the blade between thumb and forefinger and then giving it a little twist, letting it twirl in the air before its heft starts to weigh it down again. By which point I’ve already given the pommel a little jerk and underhanded twist, flicking my wrist at the last in order to flip it back up and off to the right, only to catch it by the hilt long before it can whip off beyond my reach. Finally I give it two more much more modest little flick, just enough to let it turn over once before catching it again, and give it a last little flourish through my fingers before raising it in front of my face.
That makes me smile, rueful as it might be. I didn’t even intend to do half of that, mostly it just happened, instinct and muscle memory taking over. A youth full of hard training and natural talent bolstered by three more decades of putting it all to practice day after day. Sometimes in quite an ugly way, I remember, but still …
My smile starts to fade now, I watch it happen in the clean polished surface of the blade, my face bent and distorted but clear enough in the folded steel. It’s true, I’ve done things I’m none too proud of, that I really shouldn’t be proud of, in the time I served the elder Hontiresk I let my own survival twist me into something I really didn’t like. It took leaving Rundao behind when I was forced to run south from the Occupation to realise I could still allow myself to be good again. Or at least something a little less … I don’t know. Despicable, maybe.
But now that I’m back here, in the employ of the son and doing the very same kind of work I’d worked so hard to get away from, and steer my new friends away from too once I got used to more … well, “honest” money, I suppose … no, this city holds too many dark memories for me, and it’s a bad influence, I’m starting to realise. But now I know it I’m finally understanding that it’s a little too late to pull myself back from the brink.
Damn it … what the hell was I thinking answering that letter? Why did I bring them all here in the first place? I should have just ignored it the moment I saw that bloody seal, even before I tore it open. Just tossed the whole thing in the fire, unopened. Saved myself and my friends the pain.
Gripping the knife a little tighter, I lower it slowly, sucking a slow breath in through my nostrils while my mouth stays stubbornly clamped shut thanks to my tension. Meanwhile I flex my free hand the best I can, trying to work a little slack into my fingers now, worried I might be too tight right now. Getting too worked up right now probably isn’t the best thing.
It’s never really that quiet down here, I’ve noticed since I’ve started to become familiar with this place. The people trapped in the makeshift cells have largely learned to keep themselves as quiet as they can in order to escape the worst ire of their guards, but even so there’s still the odd sob and moan that manages to carry under the doors or through the keyholes. Then there are Jammund’s folk, who make no such efforts, happy being as loud as they want as they make their way through, more than a few, I think, even making an effort to be louder than they have to just to keep their prisoners suitably cowed. I’ve heard them jump on the tiniest peep when they’re close, some just battering on the doors and yelling for silence, while others will harangue them, or even worse if they feel inclined. I understand they’re under strict orders to keep them all alive, but that clearly doesn’t mean they have to be comfortable.
That being said, there’s quiet enough that I pick up on the approaching footsteps easily enough even before whoever’s coming turns the corner and makes their way towards me. I let my breath go slow, finally working on prying my jaws apart as I do it, and a little dark haze of smoke still manages to escape when I do it, letting me know the furnace is still churning even if I couldn’t already feel it hot in my chest. I don’t sheath my knife as I originally planned to now, instead just letting it hang between my knees as I finally look up.
Tavarrat starts to slow as she sees me watching her approach, the frown that was already on her face tightening even though her confidence immediately begins to fade. She’s not carrying her staff now, I notice, although she’s still wearing the sword I noticed her favouring earlier, her hands conspicuously empty now, fingers worrying at each other as she starts to wring them. Her eyes go straight to the knife, I notice.
She’s alone, too, which surprises me most. After what happened most recently between us I would have thought Vandryss would have been close behind her.
“Oh, um …” She starts to nibble on her lip as she stumbles a little to a half-hearted stop a significant stretch short of me. Definitely still well out of range, I see. “Mistress Mallys, I didn’t expect … um … I thought that –”
“Well it’s nice to hear you’re still capable of doing that, at least.” I don’t even try to keep the edge out of my words as I essentially growl them. “What do you want?”
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Her eyes slowly shift from the knife up to my face, narrowing a little as that frown tightens again. She’s still startled but I think some of her former fire might be coming back now. “I have to … Vandryss asked me to … to finish restraining Foxtail. The younger one. She doesn’t want them to have any more –”
“No, I don’t think so.” I let a little more cold menace slip into my words now as I narrow my eyes. “I think you’ve done enough to that poor kid in there. You damn near killed them once already, I think they’ve earned an opportunity to recover. I definitely don’t approve of you hanging them off the wall like their father.”
Tavarrat purses her lips now, her fingers still twitching together, but something about the way they seem to move with a little more purpose now puts me on my guard. She’s a wizard after all, whether she’s a rogue from the Order or not. She’s dangerous, and even the possibility she might decide to try something to get her way after all makes my grip tighten almost without my asking it to first. “Mistress Mallys, I don’t think … I shouldn’t have to remind you that –”
“Don’t make me remind you, Tavarrat. Please.” I start to bunch up the muscles in my thighs now, sitting forward in the chair a little more so I can spring forward fast if I have to. She might be out of reach but the distance between us really isn’t so great I couldn’t still cover it in two swift, sprinting steps if I had to. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to use violence to stop a wizard before they could utter an incantation or prepare the components or a sigil for a spell. “Just fuck off before you do something stupid.”
She opens her mouth and I almost launch myself out of the chair right there, only for another voice to stop us both: “Luthan, y’all right there?”
Jammund steps close as she visibly stiffens, something I don’t quite catch sparking between her fingers as what might have been the start of a spell probably just fizzles out before it can be completed. He’s looking past her at me as he lets his grizzled, knotty old seafarer’s hand rest on the worn hilt of the sabre on his hip, a slightly quirking brow the only thing revealing some small consternation as she examines the broken standoff. I let myself settle back onto the seat now, lowering the knife but not loosening my fingers just yet, looking right back at him while keeping my face as stony as it was before.
“Oh … Orric, I …” Tavarrat splutters awkwardly as she stumbles on the spot, seeming to deflate even as she falters. “No … I mean yes … or … I don’t know, I was just … this isn’t what it looks like, really, it was just …”
His thick salt-and-pepper brow lifts a little higher as he turns back to her, not saying a word, just waiting for her to continue, and this seems to finish her off, really. Finally she just lets a heavy sigh go and lets her body slump back against the wall, sagging but still staying upright enough she doesn’t drop on the spot.
“I came to fetch you, for Pilehr.” He keeps his tone soothing, I notice, but maybe there’s a little steel in it even so, enough to exercise some authority over the situation now. “Back in the tunnels, she needs your help. They’ve finished setting up, but they still want your help with the final preparations. I don’t understand exactly what that means, but then she said it was more your kind of thing anyway, so …”
“No, that’s … quite right, yes.” She licks her lips as she pushes herself away from the wall again, straightening up now as she self-consciously smooths her robes down, and lets a more shallow breath go as she starts to move back the way she came before. “Perhaps I should come back –"
Before she can pass him Jammund shoots out his hand and takes hold of her arm, gripping tight enough to hold her but not enough to hurt. When she looks up in surprise he seems to falter, stuck for words for a beat, and he avoids her eyes for as long, too. “Just wait. For a moment.”
Something about the way she seems to soften when he finally looks at her again … I remember I saw something of this when I first met them, and again after they captured Gael, a deeper connection than mere professional association. He’s so gentle around her, it’s an interesting contrast. Now he reaches up to touch her face, but stops short, reluctant now, and his eyes flicker my way for just the split of a second. As if they’re deeply self-conscious about revealing any of this connection in the company of a relative stranger like me.
She starts to speak, but then checks herself, and he goes instead after clearing his throat, seeming more self-conscious now. “Just … I’m sorry. I am. I know it don’t feel … it was them. Not that young one, in there, they were already here. She’s right. Just let ‘em rest. Wait until … I dunno. Let things calm down a bit first. We got more pressing concerns.”
That makes her frown a little, and she regards him for a long beat, her lips pursed now, but finally she looks down, starting to nibble on her bottom lip again. “I … all right. Yes. It can wait. Just … can you handle Vandryss? I don’t know if … if I can …”
Reaching up again, he doesn’t hesitate this time, letting his hand rest on her cheek as he leans in close, letting his forehead rest against hers as she looks up again. “Yeah. You just go help Pilehr and the others. If Van finds you first just send her to talk to me.”
Nodding, she starts to pull away, but before she can leave he stops her again and gives her a quick kiss. It’s a light one, closed mouth, just on the lips, but this feels intimate enough, and when he does let her go she falters for a moment, her cheeks immediately colouring as her eyes flash to mine. Then she turns away quickly and scampers off, almost like she just wants to get away from any judgement now.
When I look up at him he’s just frowning after her, and it just seems to deepen when he turns to me, folding her arms immediately as he adjusts his footing. Not moving any closer, I see, but not backing away, either. He’s a long moment regarding me, his eyes finally lingering on the knife still in my hand that I finally, slowly slip away into its sheath again, mostly just by touch this time.
“You’re busy then, I take it.” I venture after a moment, finally sitting back as I fold my own arms close across my chest.
“Whole place is, looks like. Upstairs, the big boss is busy with his fancy theatre bollocks. Never seen much point in it all myself, but I’m told he rakes in a shitload o’ cash for it, all the rich folk in town go gaga for this stuff. So good on ‘im for it. Long as he makes sure he pays me for all the shit me an’ mine do for ‘im, we’re golden.”
Ah yes, the play. I remember when we came in, the whole backstage was absolutely bustling madly with the madcap activity of mounting this first matinee performance, following last night’s opening. I had a little bit of a start, just for a moment, on the way in, when I saw a half-naked, very bloody young man walk past me with nothing more than a pensive look as he excused himself for pushing through. It was only the fact that he smelled distractingly sweet that told me this wasn’t real blood, merely some false approximation made from what I could only guess is some kind of syrup. That and the fact that no-one else seemed remotely alarmed by this horrifying visage walking amongst them.
What kind of play opens with a bloody man, I cannot begin to fathom. Apparently this is from a Tektehran playwright, though, so it makes a certain twisted sense.
We can hear it now, periodically, even from all the way down here, three levels down. It’s not very clear, the music from the orchestra is little more than an occasional rising thrum of vaguely tuneful sounds, mostly when it swells, I imagine. The audience themselves are clearer, their occasional response to a particularly well-played or inspired moment announcing itself with their applause sounding like a sudden muffled rush of surf, only to fade and not return again. At least not immediately.
“And what about you stealing all their storage space?” I wonder now, looking up towards the ceiling now, just for a beat. “Has that not inconvenienced them at all? Given how important this must be to our employer, after all.”
“I dunno, Vandryss sorted it all out, the space was already available for us. If there were any complaints I never heard ‘em.”
“No, I suppose not. There are times I have to wonder who’s actually in charge in this.”
Jammund eyes me carefully for another beat before responding. “How d’you mean?”
“Well, I mean … I was called in by Hontiresk, because of what I used to do, even if he did put me and mine at your disposal for this. It’s his coin that’s bought our services. But your … pale friend seems to be the one calling the shots in this, and he’s going to startling lengths to pretend that her more … extreme actions are acceptable. Almost as if he’s trying to convince himself that it’s acceptable while he scrambles to cover for her. That feels an awful lot like being beholden to someone.”
“Aye, well that ain’t any o’ my business. Van’s working with me in this, not the big boss.” His tone doesn’t change in the slightest, still as guarded as ever, and his frown speaks volumes all on its own.
“With? Really?” I cock a brow at that. “So if you were to tell her that murdering half the Hill last night was going too far, she’d actually listen to you on it? Perhaps alter her behaviour moving forward accordingly?”
He doesn’t answer me this time, his eyes wandering towards the door behind me instead. His mouth works sourly as he does it.
“Who is she to you? Really? Why can’t you see she’s insane, or monstrous, or just plain wrong?”
Again, he just looks me over for a long beat, his frown deeper than ever. There’s a particular coldness to his eyes now that I realise I’ve seen a few times now, and I’m starting to get the feeling that despite the warmth he projects, he might be a deal flintier than I originally thought. I start to wonder how different he really is from Vandryss, and I’m not sure if I’d really like the answer. “Van’s … doing what she needs to. To keep things on track. This was all working smooth ‘til these folk turned up, now it’s gone to shit. An’ it keeps getting worse. I’d remind you that you got a job to do too in this.”
“That’s …” I have to pause, taking a deep breath to bite back the curse that wants to come, rising to a bait I’m not sure is actually being cast. I grit my teeth and order my thoughts the best I can before continuing, stopping just short of counting down too. “I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate. These people aren’t what we were told they were, this is a good deal more complicated than we were first led to believe. After what happened on the Heath we’ve had to step back and rethink our approach somewhat.”
Cocking a brow, he regards me for another beat. “I dunno, can’t help thinking it looks more like you’re half-arsing it to me. Like you maybe ain’t really committed to this, ‘spite taking the big boss’ money. Meanwhile our folk are dying, an’ they’re all still alive. So far you lot ain’t done shit.”
“Your colleague was an unfortunate loss, of course, but –”
“Gran weren’t just a colleague. He was a friend, to all of us. Damn loyal lad, he was. Luthan knew him best, they were damn close, reckon he would’ve done anything for her. Definitely would’ve died for her if he could. ‘Stead he got cut down for nothin’, it was just a waste.” He looks down at the floor, working his mouth again, still bitter, and I think he’s fighting the urge to spit now. “Y’know we were all he had left?”
“No.” I say it very quietly, careful s I barely breathe the word. I’m not sure where this is going, or if I like it at all. “I don’t … I didn’t know him, really.”
“Course you didn’t. We’re strangers to y’all, when it comes down to it. But then it’s mostly same with you for us too, I s’pose. Refik brought you in for this, didn’t really have much to do with me really, but …” He looks up again. “Gran got kicked out the Guild, maybe five years ago? Hard to keep track, I s’pose, ‘least in this line o’ work. Spot o’ bother with his old folk back at the Arrowhead. Not sure what would’ve happened to him if he hadn’t known Luthan from before. She brought him in, and I put him to work. We gave him somewhere to belong, and folk to belong with.”
“But … he really was with the Thieves Guild then? I thought that he’d just … I mean, I understand some of your other people were using –”
“No, he was the real deal. A prowler, in fact, if you can believe it. Big lad like him. ‘Course they mostly just used him for muscle.”
That makes me frown, genuinely surprised now. I remember he was very large, even for a full-blooded orc. I mean, of course, compared to Suret he would still have been somewhat small, but compared to most … I shake my head. “But … that doesn’t make a lot of sense, I thought the Guild was like … they’re not really something you just leave, and to actually be ejected, surely that’s unheard of. Wouldn’t they have just killed him?”
“Gran never really talked about it, not even with Luthan, although she worked out enough to have an idea. Looks like somebody pulled some strings, made sure he was allowed to just slip away. ‘Course he had to keep a low profile after, but it weren’t like that was too difficult for him. When he came to us, I put him to work doing more what he’d actually been trained for, an’ I reckon he was happier for it, too. Rest o’ the time he’d watch out for Luthan, and I was happy to let him do that to.” He shrugs. “He was more’n just a bodyguard to her, though. They got real close. She’s cut up something fierce about what happened, so you can understand she … ain’t exactly thinking things through right now.”
“Yes, I can understand that. But that doesn’t mean …” Again I stop myself, taking another sharper breath as I look down at my hands, working my fingers with cold frustration. “What happened … that can’t be allowed to dictate what happens in that room. I hope you can understand that I cannot allow her to make a foolish mistake based on anger or grief and do something which puts all of us in danger of the kind of retaliation we can’t walk away from. The cost of killing one of the Order in cold blood like that will dog our steps for the rest of our lives, no matter how hard we try to hide. I need you to understand that I cannot let her back in that room. Not now.” I fix him with my sharpest look now. “And definitely not Vandryss. Even before your friend was killed … after what she did on the Hill, she should never be allowed in that room again after that.”
“So you’re just gonna sit here forever, then? Kill anybody who tries to go in? That your plan?”
This time I’m the one to cock my brow, setting my jaw now as I let a growl into my voice. “I’d rather not, but under the circumstances …”
He falls silent again, just cocking his head as he regards me more critically, shrewd now, but his eyes have become colder than I’ve ever seen them before. There’s something genuinely dangerous in them now, I realise. Perhaps I’m making another enemy here, taking this stand in his place of work.
Then he lets out a heavy sigh and pushes himself away from the wall again, looking down at the floor now. “I’ll talk with Van, make sure she don’t mess with the young wizard, and goes easy on the elder. Luthan’ll do what I ask her to do, even if this, you don’t have to worry ‘bout her.” He looks up again, still frowning, but it seems less intense now, at least. “So if you could find the time to focus your efforts on the job at hand like you was hired for, reckon it’d be appreciated. Sure make things easier round here. ‘Specially for the Foxtails.”
I can’t help my eyes narrowing as I look him over now, too wary to just agree to his terms, but he starts to turn away instead, and then I see Trouble’s coming now. She’s balancing a tray carrying a heaped plate of sandwiches with a pitcher and a cup on it, taking care as she goes since she’s doing it one-handed while carrying her sword in her other. I’ve a mind to tell her to just strap it to her back like she does when we’re travelling but under the circumstances I’m not sure that’s really the smartest move. She might still need to draw it in a hurry.
“Appreciate you hearing me out, anyway.” He turns the rest of the way and starts heading off down the corridor now, barely slowing to give Trouble a quick look over before letting her pass. She stops once he has, looking back to watch him walk away, before finally turning back to me and giving me a quizzical look.
“Did I miss something?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” I push myself upright again, giving my back a little stretch as she walks up to me. “It’s just as likely we just made it worse. But he does have a point.”
“About what?”
Trying not to grimace, I turn to look back at the door, already regretting what this is probably going to mean for that poor kid trapped behind it. “That we have a job to do. Gods help us … we really don’t have much choice there.”