The box full of accumulated desk crap sat by the door to my private office. Meanwhile I sat at the now immaculate desk returning the last few emails i... my inbox with semi-polite variations on “fuck off, it’s not my problem anymore!” The phone rang. I rolled my eyes. I was going to be out the door for the last time in half an hour; what could anyone possibly want? “Mr Sanders, there’s a young lady in reception for you,” the receptionist said. I smiled. “Hmm, what’s she wearing?” I asked. “Excuse. Silas lay on the couch, whimpering in pain, the entire right sleeve of his shirt soaked in blood from the dozen deep but non-fatal cuts in his arm. He could not believe that Marla was telling Lord Krinn their daughter’s location and had even called him ‘Master.’ The betrayal he felt from her causing him even more pain than the cuts in his arm. Softly, the assassin that had been torturing him said in his ear, “This whole ordeal can end right now Silas if you just tell Lord Krinn what he wants. More

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