40
“You promise you can’t see?”
“I cannot see a thing. Please tell me you’re not going to drop me off a cliff.” I smell … fresh paint. Newly cut plywood. And flowers. A lot of flowers.
“Ready?”
“Will you hurry up!”
Luke fiddles with the bandana he’s had around my eyes for the last fifteen minutes of rather disorienting travel. Good thing I trust him. Because I do. Trust him. And I’m pretty sure we’re alone after we left Leia and Mr. Real Estate (named Adam, a sweet guy from what I could tell, which worries me because Leia might eat him alive). They’re still back at the Con, dressed as Ahsoka and Hans Solo, but we’re here. Alone. Luke and me. Together. And we could be in the middle of a medieval torture chamber and I would be none the wiser. Although where would he find a medieval tort
