7
Myla
A talking monkey sits by Lincoln’s feet.
With orange fur, no less.
I’d say that’s weird, but this is my life here. For my day job, I use little sentient lightning bolts to move souls around. Strange is normal for yours truly. It’s the thrax who should be shocked by Mister Monkeypants.
I scan the locker room. In a far corner, some workers still fuss around Rufus, chatting in low voices as they clean his armor and whatnot. A few glance our way.
None react to the very orange monkey. It’s like they don’t even see him. Whoa.
Thrax keep a tight lid on security. When you’re a demon hunter, enemies want to sneak in and kill you in your sleep. It’s why Lincoln’s people live deep underground. It’s also why anything out of the ordinary makes all of Antrum lose their collective minds.
T
