Senga was sitting between her friends, eating the same pizza they ater every week, soaking up the warmth of people who understood her – at least, who understood everything she had been that didn’t involve this house and –
“… Did Erramun go to talk to the cook in a towel?”
“Yes, yes he did.”
“Well. Do you think I should rescue him?”
“Senga, he’s an assassin, he’s older than you, and he’s a tough man. I’m sure he can take care of-”
“This is the Monmartin family staff, though,” Ezer cut in.
“-you should go rescue him.” Continue reading