As Damian put aside Catalin’s pile of clothes, he asked, “Victor? Are my swords in here?”

“Very bottom,” Victor told him.

Almost greedily, Damian dug through the bag, eventually pulling out two sheathed short swords. Beaming, he kissed both of them, saying, “I missed you so much!”

Not sure how much more of that he could take, Catalin scooped up the clothes and closed himself into the small bathroom.

It took him a few minutes to fully get a hold of himself. The urge to throw up was almost overpowering, and he reluctantly let himself slide to the filthy floor again until it passed. He reminded himself firmly that he’d dealt with crises before, and he’d deal with this just the same. Escape, at the moment, was impossible: he was outnumbered, and all three of them were highly trained. For now, he’d need to go along with what they wanted, and keep waiting for that opening.

Best case scenario, of course, was that they’d realize that they couldn’t possibly do anything about Anwar. Best case scenarios rarely happened to Catalin, but Rakan would have wanted him to consider it, just in case. Rakan, where the hell are you…?