59: Brice
Brice
They’d sent a couple of men in full body-suits to clean the room. Three guards blocked the doorway, weapons ready. Brice and Fen stood at the back, either side of the bucket. A voice told them to remove all their clothing and leave them in a heap by the door.
Brice tried not to look at Fen, almost didn’t notice her ribs against the smooth flesh of her stomach, her other curves flattened. Felt her examining him, too. Couldn’t make out what she thought, and he didn’t catch any sussing.
One of the guards took the clothes, passed in spares. “Temporary, while we clean yours,” the voice said as Brice picked up the grey all-in-one, omni-size with straps and webbing to tighten as appropriate. “We’ll get you footwear later.”
Fenn sussed, to Brice—but he detected a widening of
