Bolton. I note the name.
They move out of my line of vision. “You really don’t feel bad at all?” the young guard asks.
“Shit no. You can’t think of them as kids, they’re currency. That little girl will turn into thousands of profit when she’s picked up tonight. Helps pad your paycheck, Carl, so stop complaining,” Bolton mutters. I see him glance at his watch. “Fuck, we need to move. Perimeter duty in five.”
A heavy door clangs shut as their words echo into the marrow of my bones.
I have to get the child out of here before the buyer comes.
Before she is sold into hell.
I’ll die before I let that happen.
Die.
Yes, I would be filled with sorrow to leave my nymph with one less protector, but she would understand my choice.
And, I’m certain, agree.
Save the child.
But how?
The concussion I sustained is finally wearing off, so now I must think.
Minotaur? Are you there?
He shifts uncomfortably, needing the nymph, her essence, to exist beyond the confines of my skin.
So for now, my options are limited to my own personal skill set.
And what skills are those?
Ludo the Janitor washes walls and unclogs pipes.
Replaces fuses and changes light bulbs.
Walls.
Pipes.
Fuses.
Light bulb.
Walls.
Pipes.
Fuses.
Light bulb.
Think, Ludo, think.
10
Theo!
