squints as she thinks on the question, then shakes her head no.
“Are you sure?” Neil asks again. “It’s a maze up there.”
“I grew up in that landfill. Unless it was buried years ago, it doesn’t exist.”
Neil scrunches his brow. Besides this topic and small tidbits regarding the passing scenery, the drive is mostly silent. Neil’s mind remains distracted by his newfound suspicion of the Black Market and their potential use of long forgotten underground transfer tunnels – and even more suspiciously – if someone from inside the Agency has been helping them.
Soon Neil brings his truck to a stop in front of Inna’s antique shop. He unloads the pull wagon from the vehicle’s rear double doors and wheels it up the porch.
The bell jingles as they enter the musty shop, where flies and dust particles dance in the air. Neil’s eyes shoot towards the back, but the counter is empty. No Damian.
Inna blows the dust off ceramic figurines before reorienting them on their glass display cases, humming to herself as she moves deeper into the shop. Neil watches her, her touch unnecessarily delicate for items that have seen much better days. As he sidesteps through the aisles, matching pace with Inna to retain his clear view, his boot catches the edge of a shelf and causes a tattered box to tip over onto the floor. The loud thud interrupts Inna’s humming.
“You know, I should go,” Neil says, embarrassed as he fumbles to return the box to the shelf while arguing with himself in his head. He doesn’t even know why he came inside.
“Wait,” Inna interrupts. “Are you hungry?”
Neil cocks his head.
“Damian likes to eat early,” she explains.
Neil eyes the stairs leading above. “He here now?”
“At Marty’s,” she sighs. “I swear if the body could survive off alcohol he’d live forever.”
Neil hesitates.
“Please,” she almost begs. Neil notices Inna subconsciously holding her shoulder. It would be a natural pose as one waits for a response if it weren’t for the fact that it’s the exact location of Inna’s deep bruise. And from the tone of her voice, Neil starts to wonder if she is afraid to be alone with Damian when he drinks, which based on what he’s gathered, seems to be always. After failing to stand up for Paiton, the least he can do is help protect Inna from Damian. If he should get out of hand, Neil concludes a quick reminder of the penal codes or a visit from an SEO should do the trick to keep Damian in check.
“I could eat,” Neil agrees.
Upstairs in the antique shop, while sitting on the edge of the same cot used after the utility truck bombing, Neil attempts to scrub the black marks off the charred pull wagon. Inna smiles as she scoops mush from a hanging pot over an open flame, able to see Neil struggling to make the repairs. Her job restoring items isn’t as easy as he thought it would be.
Just then, heavy footsteps begin to reverberate from below as a figure lumbers up the stairs. Neil and Inna exchange glances. Here we go. Neil nods to reassure her.
“Two checkpoints just to ride the rail. Ain’t those lousy officers got nothing better to do?” The complaining voice belongs to Damian. He immediately spots Neil across the room on the cot, briefly locking eyes. Neil watches as Damian inspects the mush over Inna’s shoulder, spotting a small spice container.
“Thought we were saving this?”
“We have a guest,” Inna notes as she stirs in the spice.
“Thought strays were against code?” Damian snipes, just quiet enough for Neil not to hear anything except harsh whispers. “You gonna make a habit of this?”
Inna ignores him and finishes her concoction. She empties the last of the spice.
“Unbelievable…,” Damian complains.
Inna brushes past Damian and sets three wooden bowls on the table. “It might not be what you Collectors are used to, but it tastes better than it looks.”
Neil rolls the wagon aside before approaching. He sits and takes a
“Are you sure?” Neil asks again. “It’s a maze up there.”
“I grew up in that landfill. Unless it was buried years ago, it doesn’t exist.”
Neil scrunches his brow. Besides this topic and small tidbits regarding the passing scenery, the drive is mostly silent. Neil’s mind remains distracted by his newfound suspicion of the Black Market and their potential use of long forgotten underground transfer tunnels – and even more suspiciously – if someone from inside the Agency has been helping them.
Soon Neil brings his truck to a stop in front of Inna’s antique shop. He unloads the pull wagon from the vehicle’s rear double doors and wheels it up the porch.
The bell jingles as they enter the musty shop, where flies and dust particles dance in the air. Neil’s eyes shoot towards the back, but the counter is empty. No Damian.
Inna blows the dust off ceramic figurines before reorienting them on their glass display cases, humming to herself as she moves deeper into the shop. Neil watches her, her touch unnecessarily delicate for items that have seen much better days. As he sidesteps through the aisles, matching pace with Inna to retain his clear view, his boot catches the edge of a shelf and causes a tattered box to tip over onto the floor. The loud thud interrupts Inna’s humming.
“You know, I should go,” Neil says, embarrassed as he fumbles to return the box to the shelf while arguing with himself in his head. He doesn’t even know why he came inside.
“Wait,” Inna interrupts. “Are you hungry?”
Neil cocks his head.
“Damian likes to eat early,” she explains.
Neil eyes the stairs leading above. “He here now?”
“At Marty’s,” she sighs. “I swear if the body could survive off alcohol he’d live forever.”
Neil hesitates.
“Please,” she almost begs. Neil notices Inna subconsciously holding her shoulder. It would be a natural pose as one waits for a response if it weren’t for the fact that it’s the exact location of Inna’s deep bruise. And from the tone of her voice, Neil starts to wonder if she is afraid to be alone with Damian when he drinks, which based on what he’s gathered, seems to be always. After failing to stand up for Paiton, the least he can do is help protect Inna from Damian. If he should get out of hand, Neil concludes a quick reminder of the penal codes or a visit from an SEO should do the trick to keep Damian in check.
“I could eat,” Neil agrees.
Upstairs in the antique shop, while sitting on the edge of the same cot used after the utility truck bombing, Neil attempts to scrub the black marks off the charred pull wagon. Inna smiles as she scoops mush from a hanging pot over an open flame, able to see Neil struggling to make the repairs. Her job restoring items isn’t as easy as he thought it would be.
Just then, heavy footsteps begin to reverberate from below as a figure lumbers up the stairs. Neil and Inna exchange glances. Here we go. Neil nods to reassure her.
“Two checkpoints just to ride the rail. Ain’t those lousy officers got nothing better to do?” The complaining voice belongs to Damian. He immediately spots Neil across the room on the cot, briefly locking eyes. Neil watches as Damian inspects the mush over Inna’s shoulder, spotting a small spice container.
“Thought we were saving this?”
“We have a guest,” Inna notes as she stirs in the spice.
“Thought strays were against code?” Damian snipes, just quiet enough for Neil not to hear anything except harsh whispers. “You gonna make a habit of this?”
Inna ignores him and finishes her concoction. She empties the last of the spice.
“Unbelievable…,” Damian complains.
Inna brushes past Damian and sets three wooden bowls on the table. “It might not be what you Collectors are used to, but it tastes better than it looks.”
Neil rolls the wagon aside before approaching. He sits and takes a
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