39: Deva
Deva
The guard took her along the corridor, then up the stairs. He told her to head to the right, along to the security station.
Which, according to the plans, had its own exit from the building. But Deva wouldn’t be able to use it with the guard hovering over her.
She twitched. When he told her to stop, she shuffled from foot to foot. She pulled faces that—hopefully—showed discomfort.
He noticed. “You okay?” he asked, without sympathy.
Deva looked down. “Get nervous. It’s the guns, I think. It’s why they put me on this shift—not as many guards around.”
“Nervous?” He leaned in.
Deva backed away and squirmed, pushing her legs together. “Don’t…don’t want to have an accident.” She met his eyes, then looked away.
“Accident? Oh. Right. Mind you, make a mess of the floo
