They stepped outside the makeshift wine cellar prison, and the transition from the damp darkness to the mansion's artificial lighting felt like emerging from a grave. The weight of what they'd learned—three years of systematic poisoning, their father and boss murdered meal by meal—hung in the air between them like a dark hunky musk.
"We'll need to move fast," Bishop said, his voice carrying the kind of urgency that came from knowing windows of opportunity were opportunities and could close quickly. "There can be no mistakes. Not one. Marius, I’ll need you to scope the park for us. Note the entry and exit points and find possible ways to slam the meeting point shut. We need to understand the terrain before we walk into it."
"I can do that," Marius replied, already calculating in his head.
