Katelyn Valeria @scarredbookworm - Tumblr Blog

"What the fuck is this?" Tammy demanded as she was served the papers.

"You're being sued for custody of your daughter," the deputy said. "Have a nice day."

Tammy slammed the door shut in his face, fuming, and ripped the envelope open.

Alexander Romanov.

The name seemed vaguely familiar, but as she read through the papers, her fury grew. She stormed to her daughter's room, yanking the door open.

"What the fuck did you do?" she asked her cowering daughter.

alexander-romanov-2

“Sir, she’s been served. We have a private investigator watching her for her reaction related to her highness,” His advisor told him.

Alex nodded. “Good. Call authorities if she is witnessed placing hands on my daughter. A paper trail will help build our case. How long before trial?”

“About three weeks sir. We pushed it as fast as we could.”

Tammy knew, from what the document said, that they suspected she was harming Kate. So she kept her distance.

"Someone is trying to take you away from me. Did you say anything to anyone?" she asked as calmly as she could.

Kate shook her head. Inside she felt hope. Being taken away from Tammy sounded like a good thing.

"No ma'am."

"Good. Stay here and keep quiet. I have a phone call to make."

Tammy called her lawyer, requesting a meeting the next day while Kate was in school. How dare this man think he could take her daughter away from her?

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

It had been a messy fight, and there was glass and dust and all sorts of other debris everywhere. Kate rounded the corner of the building, trying to take stock of the damage, when she stopped. There was a man leaning against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

"Shit," she said, dropping the broom and rushing to his side. She pulled off her apron and pressed it into his side. "Okay, I don't know much first aid but I think you ought to lie down."

“Nah…it’s just gonna hurt for a bit. You should go…get somewhere safe. Who knows what’s lurking about,” Clint said, thinking it’s pointless to try and save him at this point.

"I'm pretty sure the fight is over, so let me take care of you," Kate insisted. "I can't see under your uniform but this feels like a lot of blood and that's bad. Is there someone i can call? I doubt the phones are working.

She had a suspicion he was one of the avengers but wouldn't mention it. The uniform looked too professional and high tech to not be.

“Lines are down and my comm is compromised,” Clint offered. “I’ll be fine…it’s just a flesh wound. Just need to get to the tower and they’ll patch me up.”

"A flesh wound doesn't mean you can't bleed out," Kate argued, then sighed. "Okay. We'll go slow. What tower are you talking about?"

Clint watched the people scatter like ants as the monster attacked New York. Typically he stays out of these things, and lets whatever happens happen. But the avengers look like they’re losing.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of holding back so much power. It had been centuries since he allowed himself to move as Set. He had given up that life to pretend to be small—in the hopes of finding purpose.

But sometimes he misses the temples and sand.

Kate was running late. She was running late, and there was a monster attacking the city.

Theoretically the two would negate each other, but her boss was an asshole and didn't take excuses unless they came with a doctor's note.

"Fucking typical," she muttered, jogging down the street as everyone seemed to be going the opposite way--away from the monster.

Maybe the shop wouldn't be there by the time she got there? No, that just meant she was out of a job, and she needed to keep her stupid job, at least until another one showed up.

She ducked under an awning as the tail swung, sending glass raining down, and glanced at the guy who was standing there.

"Hell of a day to be late for work," she joked. As soon as the monster had turned and the coast was clear, she stepped back out and resumed her journey.

Clint regarded her in amusement. “Most people are trying to run the other way—“

He cut off as he watched her move towards the monster again. Humans…why is work so important? He saw the tail start to come down on her and moved.

One moment he was further away and the next he was right with her. He grabbed her and spun them both to avoid the tail as it crashed down and crushed the street where she had been standing.

“So where is work?” He asked, unfazed.

"Unfortunately close to where that thing is destroying the city, but my boss won't take that as an excuse for being late."

She sighed.

"Thank you. I know people are running away but until my boss tells me to stay home I'm risking it."

It was a thank you for saving her too, even if she didn't say it directly.

Clint hummed as he released her. “You’re welcome. Which building is work? Maybe it’s already gone. And I feel obligated to walk you now so if it is still standing you at least get there safe.”

"It's--" Kate scanned the horizon. "Well, I can't see it from here, but it's the one with the restaurant at the top. I'm not in the restaurant, I'm on the first floor."

alexander-romanov-2

@scarredbookworm

He hadn’t meant to find her.

It started with a name—Tammy—buried in a report. A loose thread from when he was eighteen. He pulled it anyway.

Then he saw the photo.

A small girl. Thin. Quiet. Watching the room like she already knew how to survive it.

Blue eyes.

His.

“Run it again.”

They did.

99.8%.

Alexander Nicholas Romanov II didn’t react. Not visibly. He just closed the file, already knowing what came next.

His daughter.

—

He moved fast after that.

Background checks. Medical records. School reports. Surveillance.

Each piece made it worse.

Bruises explained away. Absences ignored. A pattern no one stopped.

Alexander didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lash out.

He built a case.

And when it was enough—

“Prepare the petition.”

"What the fuck is this?" Tammy demanded as she was served the papers.

"You're being sued for custody of your daughter," the deputy said. "Have a nice day."

Tammy slammed the door shut in his face, fuming, and ripped the envelope open.

Alexander Romanov.

The name seemed vaguely familiar, but as she read through the papers, her fury grew. She stormed to her daughter's room, yanking the door open.

"What the fuck did you do?" she asked her cowering daughter.

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

It had been a messy fight, and there was glass and dust and all sorts of other debris everywhere. Kate rounded the corner of the building, trying to take stock of the damage, when she stopped. There was a man leaning against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

"Shit," she said, dropping the broom and rushing to his side. She pulled off her apron and pressed it into his side. "Okay, I don't know much first aid but I think you ought to lie down."

“Nah…it’s just gonna hurt for a bit. You should go…get somewhere safe. Who knows what’s lurking about,” Clint said, thinking it’s pointless to try and save him at this point.

"I'm pretty sure the fight is over, so let me take care of you," Kate insisted. "I can't see under your uniform but this feels like a lot of blood and that's bad. Is there someone i can call? I doubt the phones are working.

She had a suspicion he was one of the avengers but wouldn't mention it. The uniform looked too professional and high tech to not be.

Clint watched the people scatter like ants as the monster attacked New York. Typically he stays out of these things, and lets whatever happens happen. But the avengers look like they’re losing.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of holding back so much power. It had been centuries since he allowed himself to move as Set. He had given up that life to pretend to be small—in the hopes of finding purpose.

But sometimes he misses the temples and sand.

Kate was running late. She was running late, and there was a monster attacking the city.

Theoretically the two would negate each other, but her boss was an asshole and didn't take excuses unless they came with a doctor's note.

"Fucking typical," she muttered, jogging down the street as everyone seemed to be going the opposite way--away from the monster.

Maybe the shop wouldn't be there by the time she got there? No, that just meant she was out of a job, and she needed to keep her stupid job, at least until another one showed up.

She ducked under an awning as the tail swung, sending glass raining down, and glanced at the guy who was standing there.

"Hell of a day to be late for work," she joked. As soon as the monster had turned and the coast was clear, she stepped back out and resumed her journey.

Clint regarded her in amusement. “Most people are trying to run the other way—“

He cut off as he watched her move towards the monster again. Humans…why is work so important? He saw the tail start to come down on her and moved.

One moment he was further away and the next he was right with her. He grabbed her and spun them both to avoid the tail as it crashed down and crushed the street where she had been standing.

“So where is work?” He asked, unfazed.

"Unfortunately close to where that thing is destroying the city, but my boss won't take that as an excuse for being late."

She sighed.

"Thank you. I know people are running away but until my boss tells me to stay home I'm risking it."

It was a thank you for saving her too, even if she didn't say it directly.

“Fuck!” Clint snarled as he realized the team had extracted—without him.

He breathed through his nose, a hand pressed to his bleeding side, trying to stay calm and keep his heartbeat regulated.

It had been a messy fight, and there was glass and dust and all sorts of other debris everywhere. Kate rounded the corner of the building, trying to take stock of the damage, when she stopped. There was a man leaning against the wall, hand pressed to his side.

"Shit," she said, dropping the broom and rushing to his side. She pulled off her apron and pressed it into his side. "Okay, I don't know much first aid but I think you ought to lie down."

Clint watched the people scatter like ants as the monster attacked New York. Typically he stays out of these things, and lets whatever happens happen. But the avengers look like they’re losing.

He rolled his shoulders, feeling the ache of holding back so much power. It had been centuries since he allowed himself to move as Set. He had given up that life to pretend to be small—in the hopes of finding purpose.

But sometimes he misses the temples and sand.

Kate was running late. She was running late, and there was a monster attacking the city.

Theoretically the two would negate each other, but her boss was an asshole and didn't take excuses unless they came with a doctor's note.

"Fucking typical," she muttered, jogging down the street as everyone seemed to be going the opposite way--away from the monster.

Maybe the shop wouldn't be there by the time she got there? No, that just meant she was out of a job, and she needed to keep her stupid job, at least until another one showed up.

She ducked under an awning as the tail swung, sending glass raining down, and glanced at the guy who was standing there.

"Hell of a day to be late for work," she joked. As soon as the monster had turned and the coast was clear, she stepped back out and resumed her journey.

flirtsuke

Role play blogs aren’t just about cliques and it shouldn’t be about who you’ve known the longest either. Well it should be but also- there are a lot of shy cinnamon rolls out there waiting for you. But they don’t know that you can vibe with them right off the bat if they’d only send in a meme or a starter or something!

So reblog if you’re the type of blog that is open to NEW friendships even if you are already connected to old ones. New friendships mean new experiences and more people to talk about your muse’s together. This is a clique free blog despite the people who love sending me in asks and there’s much love for them but I’ve also got love waiting for you if only you’d send that one message.

Momma's Helper

@muses-of-variance

"I got it momma," Thomas told his mother, running ahead of her to get the car door open. He was only six but insistent on helping her whenever he could. He saw the way she struggled trying to complete all the chores.

And to Kate's dismay he'd seen her break down over her inability to keep the farm going the way she'd used to.

Neighbors had helped when she'd been pregnant and her husband had died unexpectedly, but now it was just her and Thomas and the Help Wanted sign.

Kate lifted the bag of feed into the truck.

"Okay. Let's go feed our ladies," she told him, referring to their chickens.

“Don’t worry about it. This is my home too now,” Bucky told her. “And I’m not paying rent or anything. Consider it an investment.”

"If you're investing in it then you should probably add a bedroom for yourself," she told him. "Unless you really like the tiny house and the solitude."

But it warmed her heart to know he considered the farm his home now. Kate would never, ever admit it, but she really liked James. More than she should. And until this moment she'd refused to acknowledge that fact.

“Maybe I will,” he mused. “Probably be better to be in the main house. I hated how long it took me to get to you guys when the fire started.”

"It can't have taken you that long. It hadn't gotten out of control until after we were out. And you got us out, that's the important thing. Thomas and I might not have even woken up since the smoke alarms didn't go off."

She frowned slightly. "Maybe we should put more smoke alarms in the rebuild."

“It wouldn’t hurt to do that,” he said. “And maybe the alarms were ready to be updated and that’s why they didn’t go off.”

His eyes swept over the burned remains, already mentally making plans to rebuild the home.

"I might not have checked them as often as I should, but they also never started chirping when the batteries were dying. Assuming the batteries were dying and the alarms weren't dead themselves."

She made a face, thinking of the last time she'd roasted meat in the oven. That usually set the alarm off just from the burning juices, but it hadn't gone off. She'd just been happy she'd managed not to set it off and hadn't questioned it.

"All right. I'm not sure there's anything I can save in here. Not right now. If it's not burned, it's soaked."

The city hadn’t changed much—not the way people moved, or the way the cold wind still bit off the Hudson. But Bucky had. At least, he hoped he had.

He stood in line at the coffee cart on 53rd and Lexington, leather gloves tucked into his jacket pocket, hands bare despite the chill. Old habits—feel the temperature, stay alert, never too comfortable. But these days, he liked to pretend he was just another guy waiting for caffeine.

A soft thud and a muffled curse snapped him out of his thoughts. Someone had dropped their bag at his feet, papers spilling across the sidewalk like autumn leaves in a gust.

Bucky bent instinctively, metal fingers brushing against the scattered mess, collecting pages with a quiet efficiency. When he looked up, he didn’t speak right away. He just held out the papers—eyes catching on theirs for a moment too long. Not threatening. Not intense. Just… curious.

Something about the moment felt real. Grounding. Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t a ghost walking through a borrowed life.

“Here,” he said finally, voice rough from the morning. “You dropped these.”

“It’s no problem. Just glad I got them before the wind did,” Bucky said, giving her a dimpled smile. “And one tea it is…any cream or sugar?”

He ordered a tea and a coffee for himself.

"One of each," she said, a faint heat on her cheeks. Dimples. Of course he had dimples. Kind, with a cool prosthetic and dimples.

The blush was from the wind. That's what she'd say if anyone asked.

"What about you? How do you take your coffee?"

“Black…sugar today is too sweet for me,” he shrugged. “And there’s too many creamers to choose from. I like simple.”

"You could just add straight milk. Some people do," she said, then tilted her head. "What sugar do you like then, if sugar now is too sweet?"

It was a weird way of saying it, which caught her off guard. Almost like he'd come from a time before refined sugar.

“Honestly growing up we used maple syrup to sweeten. Raw sugar was a treat,” he shrugged. “I still use syrup for sweetening every now and then. Or honey.”

"I should try maple syrup in tea. That sounds lovely," she mused. "Like it would add some refreshing flavor. I do like honey when it's available."

He must have grown up somewhere rural. Maybe up north, where maple syrup was more plentiful?

He offered her a smile. “Give it a try then. You’ll be surprised at how delightful it is.”

He accepted the tea and coffee, handing her the tea.

“Can I be forward and ask if you’d like to get dinner some time? Nothing too crazy. Maybe a bistro or pub somewhere.”

She took the tea, loving the warmth it brought her cold hands, and inhaled the scent before looking up at him.

"I love a good bistro meal," she admitted. "Pubs can be hit and miss, but a bistro never disappoints. And they're usually quieter. So yes, I'd like to get dinner. Here, let's get out of the way and we can exchange numbers."

@scarredbookworm

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

He didn’t touch her, but he moved close enough to sell it.

“Pizza would be great. I think I’ve been living off of rations and old bottled water for weeks now,” Ethan joked. “And books are fine to talk about. I do read sometimes when I have time. It keeps the mind sharp.”

"All right. Hello yourself to a book or some coffee or tea while I order pizza. You have any issues with pepperoni? And do you want a soda or something?"

She figured I'd he's been eating and drinking garbage he might want different garbage. And given his talk of rations she could also guess he was military or something akin to it.

“Nah. Coffee would be great. I’m pretty much running on fumes right now,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And no issues with pepperoni. No allergies for me either.”

"Keurig is over there," she said, pointing towards the small coffee and tea station. "There's a variety so help yourself."

She picked up her phone and worked on ordering the pizza, deciding to get some breadsticks and dessert too.

Ethan stepped over the the coffee maker and began to brew himself some black Colombian coffee. He glanced at the different pods and noticed the earl grey was lacking…so he made a cup of that, assuming it was Kate’s choice.

Deductive reasoning.

He carried both cups over, sliding the hot tea to her.

Kate looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. "Thank you. Pizza is ordered and should be here in about half an hour, which is just after the shop closes. Feel free to wander around or just chill on the couch."

If he was capable of relaxing. Something told Kate he was always on edge.

@scarredbookworm

Clint watched the woman with amusement as she worked the dig, not far from the tomb he had once been trapped in centuries ago.

Of course that had been another life. Now he was Clint. Not set.

She was interesting in the way she catalogued and didn’t treat the treasures of Egypt as actual treasures…just research and sand.

“You know what’s interesting out here?” He said, announcing his presence. “The fact that you’re digging up this…servant’s tomb. It’s not even valuable.”

Kate paused and set down her tools, looking up at him. "On the contrary, I find it very valuable. Perhaps it isn't gold or jewels, but a tomb for a servant holds a trove of valuable information about how the ordinary people of Egypt lived. As an archaeologist, that is far more precious to me than gold."

He didn't look like one of the other people on the dig. What was he doing here?

“Most people don’t recognize that true history is found among the locals and not the kings who ruled,” Clint shrugged, looking around. “I’m glad to hear you do.”

"They get taken in by the richness of the kings. It's the same even in modern times, but it's those of us who work to make the kings rich who hold the real stories. We are the ones who make society work. They simply profit from it."

She picked her tools up, going back to carefully digging out the bones she was excavating. They weren't human, that much was certain, but they were still important.

“Do you know the old legend of this part of the valley?” Clint wondered, blocking the sun from her some.

See? Even a washed up God could be nice.

"I do not," she told him. "There was not much literature on this section, besides the old tomb about a quarter mile to the east. Nothing more than that, and the tomb was raided centuries ago."

“They say that tomb was a prison to Set,” Clint said simply. “But then something happened that broke it open. Now he walks these deserts.”

"Interesting. In most movies, when something like this is revealed, the person telling the story ends up being the subject of the legend."

She paused her work and looked up at him.

"Following that logic, you would be Set walking the deserts in human form."

Clint smirked at her. “And if I was…what would you say or do?”

He was tickled at her reasoning. She actually got it in one go. She’s clever…

She shrugged. "Probably ask you questions about history to see if archeologist interpretations are correct. I don't see any point in running or screaming. I'm more curious than anything I suppose. You'd be a fascinating source of information that I could never use as a source academically."

@scarredbookworm

Clint watched the woman with amusement as she worked the dig, not far from the tomb he had once been trapped in centuries ago.

Of course that had been another life. Now he was Clint. Not set.

She was interesting in the way she catalogued and didn’t treat the treasures of Egypt as actual treasures…just research and sand.

“You know what’s interesting out here?” He said, announcing his presence. “The fact that you’re digging up this…servant’s tomb. It’s not even valuable.”

Kate paused and set down her tools, looking up at him. "On the contrary, I find it very valuable. Perhaps it isn't gold or jewels, but a tomb for a servant holds a trove of valuable information about how the ordinary people of Egypt lived. As an archaeologist, that is far more precious to me than gold."

He didn't look like one of the other people on the dig. What was he doing here?

“Most people don’t recognize that true history is found among the locals and not the kings who ruled,” Clint shrugged, looking around. “I’m glad to hear you do.”

"They get taken in by the richness of the kings. It's the same even in modern times, but it's those of us who work to make the kings rich who hold the real stories. We are the ones who make society work. They simply profit from it."

She picked her tools up, going back to carefully digging out the bones she was excavating. They weren't human, that much was certain, but they were still important.

“Do you know the old legend of this part of the valley?” Clint wondered, blocking the sun from her some.

See? Even a washed up God could be nice.

"I do not," she told him. "There was not much literature on this section, besides the old tomb about a quarter mile to the east. Nothing more than that, and the tomb was raided centuries ago."

“They say that tomb was a prison to Set,” Clint said simply. “But then something happened that broke it open. Now he walks these deserts.”

"Interesting. In most movies, when something like this is revealed, the person telling the story ends up being the subject of the legend."

She paused her work and looked up at him.

"Following that logic, you would be Set walking the deserts in human form."

@scarredbookworm

Clint watched the woman with amusement as she worked the dig, not far from the tomb he had once been trapped in centuries ago.

Of course that had been another life. Now he was Clint. Not set.

She was interesting in the way she catalogued and didn’t treat the treasures of Egypt as actual treasures…just research and sand.

“You know what’s interesting out here?” He said, announcing his presence. “The fact that you’re digging up this…servant’s tomb. It’s not even valuable.”

Kate paused and set down her tools, looking up at him. "On the contrary, I find it very valuable. Perhaps it isn't gold or jewels, but a tomb for a servant holds a trove of valuable information about how the ordinary people of Egypt lived. As an archaeologist, that is far more precious to me than gold."

He didn't look like one of the other people on the dig. What was he doing here?

“Most people don’t recognize that true history is found among the locals and not the kings who ruled,” Clint shrugged, looking around. “I’m glad to hear you do.”

"They get taken in by the richness of the kings. It's the same even in modern times, but it's those of us who work to make the kings rich who hold the real stories. We are the ones who make society work. They simply profit from it."

She picked her tools up, going back to carefully digging out the bones she was excavating. They weren't human, that much was certain, but they were still important.

“Do you know the old legend of this part of the valley?” Clint wondered, blocking the sun from her some.

See? Even a washed up God could be nice.

"I do not," she told him. "There was not much literature on this section, besides the old tomb about a quarter mile to the east. Nothing more than that, and the tomb was raided centuries ago."

@scarredbookworm

Ethan was tired.

Tired of running, tired of hiding. Tired of existing. Since he had first gone rogue and left IMF, his life hadn’t stopped. No normalcy, no repetition. No human connection. He was nearly starved. Always a stranger and never a friend. His contacts didn’t count. Most he couldn’t even trust.

He neared a small bookstore, nondescript and forgettable. A good place to lay low and catch a breath. So he walked through the door.

He didn’t expect to walk into a supposed lover’s quarrel—one sided anyways. The man was all hardness and anger. The girl behind the counter looked like she’d rather see anyone else. But he noticed a slight tremor to her frame…Which he knew meant one thing.

Fear.

“Hey babe, you alright?” Ethan asked as he slipped behind the counter.

He didn’t touch her, but he moved close enough to sell it.

“Pizza would be great. I think I’ve been living off of rations and old bottled water for weeks now,” Ethan joked. “And books are fine to talk about. I do read sometimes when I have time. It keeps the mind sharp.”

"All right. Hello yourself to a book or some coffee or tea while I order pizza. You have any issues with pepperoni? And do you want a soda or something?"

She figured I'd he's been eating and drinking garbage he might want different garbage. And given his talk of rations she could also guess he was military or something akin to it.

“Nah. Coffee would be great. I’m pretty much running on fumes right now,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “And no issues with pepperoni. No allergies for me either.”

"Keurig is over there," she said, pointing towards the small coffee and tea station. "There's a variety so help yourself."

She picked up her phone and worked on ordering the pizza, deciding to get some breadsticks and dessert too.

@scarredbookworm

The mission was supposed to be simple.

Infiltrate. Secure the intel. Get out.

That was the plan when Ethan Hunt and his team arrived in Bucharest under the cover of night. The warehouse on the edge of the Danube was crawling with guards, the kind of mercenaries who didn’t ask questions as long as the money flowed. IMF intelligence had flagged the operation: one of the largest black-market weapon transfers in Eastern Europe. The broker? A woman who went by the name Seraphina Kane. Arms dealer. Ruthless. Untouchable.

And someone Ethan had met once—years ago.

He didn’t tell the team that part. He never told the team about his mistakes.

“Blue Team, you’re clear on the east entrance,” Benji’s voice came through the comm, nervous but steady. “But there’s heat signatures moving on the second floor.”

Ethan signaled Ilsa beside him, then cut through the shadows. Every step echoed with the reminder of what he was fighting for: dismantling Seraphina’s empire before it could drown another region in blood.

They breached silently. The smell of oil, iron, and old smoke hung thick in the warehouse. Crates stacked high, all stamped with foreign military insignias. The chatter of guards drifted from the loading bay. Ethan motioned for Ilsa to take point while he scanned the mezzanine. That’s when he heard it—a sharp cry, small, strangled. A child’s cry.

His heart stilled.

It came from behind a locked steel door. Without hesitation, he cut the lock and swung it open.

Inside, a girl—no more than ten—sat huddled in the corner. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, dirt smudged across her face. Her arms curled around her knees, trembling like a wild creature waiting for the strike.

“Hey,” Ethan whispered, lowering his weapon. “It’s alright. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Ethan moved, following Luther’s and Benji’s orders. He avoided running into the first sweep, but couldn’t avoid the second. He place Kate down in an alcove.

“Alright, Kate. You stay right here and don’t move until I come back to this spot okay? I need to clear out way out and I don’t want you getting hurt.”