They walked into the back of a large warehouse a few blocks south of Hawthorne Boulevard. It was still early, and Sunday, so the streets were empty. Sam rubbed his eyes as he staggered over to a set of three mats arranged in a triangle in the middle of the empty cavernous space. He flopped down and curled up. Off to the side stood a whiteboard and nearby that a metal cabinet. Ping paused next to the loading dock door they had entered to flip a large switch. Rows of fluorescent tubes ignited, suspended more than fifty feet above their heads, two-by-two in a grid of industrial fixtures, clicking in rapid sequence.
“Welcome to my classroom.” Ping waved an arm toward the whiteboard.
“I wasn’t even aware I had registered,” Mara said. “What is this place?”
“This was the warehouse for my old c
