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Sophos sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to make it look presentable. It had grown long to the point of shagginess in his year away, and he hadn’t found the time to visit a barber since his flight got in just a few days earlier. Instead of short, close-cropped curls, his hair was now a blond, frizzy mess of waves that wouldn’t lay flat. He scowled and gave it up as he angled his head in the mirror to see an entirely new rats’ nest visible in the back.
He was at least happy with his outfit—it was an interesting, structured jacket with a few small touches of embroidery that he thought would make up for his lack of presentability elsewhere. He’d picked it up last summer and was glad to finally be able to wear it. It was a little warm for the weather, but he expected to be out late enough that he’d be glad for it in the night chill.
He was due at a party, only a small thing, to celebrate his return. He hadn’t kept in close touch with most of his friends while he was away at the embassy; only Helen had regularly returned his emails, for the others, he’d relied mostly on sparse social media updates. It’s why he was so excited about tonight, and so nervous. They’d always been cooler than him, on a fundamental level, especially given that they were just that much older, and had first known him as an overly pretentious and pathetically sensitive 15-year-old. They’d grown close in the years following, but a year apart could transform any relationship dynamic.
At least Helen would be there, he reminded himself. He knew exactly how to talk to her, and he felt very safe knowing exactly how she would treat him. Rolling his shoulders, he patted down his hair for a final time, grabbed his wallet and keys, and left his small and rather depressing apartment behind.
He decided to walk to the Compound, forgoing the train in favor of enjoying a rare sunny spring day and the benefits of steady, calming movement. It wasn’t too far anyway; Irene’s father had built the Compound to be central and accessible, as close to the center of town as possible so that its residents could enjoy all the benefits of the city, without the accompanying cost.
Sophos had lived there for a year with his uncle when his father had been working in D.C. managing some random small-towner’s campaign, and it was one of his favorite years of his life. The Compound was almost built like an apartment complex in the suburbs, except that the apartments and common spaces seemed to interweave and overlap, imbuing every space with a sense of community that couldn’t be avoided. It wasn’t just the architecture, either; several families were long-standing residents, and more than a few of Sophos’s friends had grown up together there, even if they hadn’t always been friends themselves (Sophos had witnessed more than a few vicious encounters in the early days of his residency, particularly between the Eddises and the Attolias). It was built to hold nearly 60 people, so they were bound to be close-knit.
Living there, Sophos had found himself included for the first time in his life. Invited to dinners, brought along for adolescent pranks, teased joyfully for his strange literary tastes. When Gen had first followed him home and stolen food out of his fridge—his uncle Magus had been furious—Sophos had thought he’d just met another in a long line of petty bullies. But Gen had stayed, taught him how to pick a lock, introduced him to his many strange friends and neighbors. For a year, Sophos had enjoyed the company of friends, and had been shaped by their influence into a less juvenile attitude besides. Then his father had returned, and Sophos’s visits to the Compound had to be interspersed with tense family affairs and dull political events.
He was grown now though, officially. He had his own place, he only had to listen to half of what his father said, and he was planning on visiting the Compound whenever he could, in between whatever writing he was meant to be doing for his thesis. Even thinking about his freedom of choice made his steps a little lighter, the sky a little bluer. He had every opportunity to shape his life into something better, and he would do his best to take advantage of it.
He crossed the final road before the Compound and arrived at its arched entryway, polished black stone gleaming above an iron gate, sitting open. Sophos passed through both the arch and the building immediately beyond it that served as an entry hall—strange in its existence, but useful time and time again for the potlucks that took place almost without warning every month or so.
The courtyard beyond was beautiful as ever, curated with trees and hedges and a fountain in the center, where water trickled down from atop stacked stones to make a gentle, soothing sound instead of the roar of the fountains in the worst kinds of malls. He weaved his way through the small hedge maze and past a few long stone picnic tables with ease, and made his way towards the stairs that ran up the side of the blue building towards Irene’s suite.
He hadn’t visited there too often, but it was the site of any major gathering—her rooms were by far the largest of the Compound, given that she was now the owner of the place after her father’s passing.
He could hear the music from outside, something with a mix of synth and bass that indicated 2000s club music, a clear trademark of Gen’s interference. He smiled to himself at the imagined reactions of Irene and Kamet as he knocked on the door, though he wasn’t quite sure if he would be heard.
He was. Costis swung the door open almost immediately, smiling widely, eyes crinkled in delight, even though he and Sophos had never spent much time together. Sophos found himself smiling back, feeling much better about his place here already.
He was met with cheers, which Sophos was certain had caused his cheeks to go red, then plied with drinks. Gen hugged him first, and then he seemed to be passed from one person to the next, even earning a touch on the shoulder from Irene. Last was Helen, who had hung back slightly as the others had crowded in.
Gods, but he was glad to see her. There was a twinkle in her eye as he approached that told him she knew what he was thinking, and he acknowledged that it was probably written on his face. He couldn’t bring himself to mind.
“Hi,” he said, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.
She tilted her head, curls flopping to the side. “Hello. Nice jacket,” she added dryly, and Sophos blushed again.
“How’ve you been?” he asked. “How did that deal go, the one you were worried about?” Helen was an accountant, had been for ages, and her snippets of workplace drama always entertained Sophos far more than any story about a white-collar office job should.
She smiled and huffed a laugh. “It was interesting. It’s still ongoing, so I can’t tell you details, but I have faith it’ll come through.”
“Good,” Sophos said, smiling and a little too enamored to concoct a better response. “That’s good.”
The pizza arrived then, and Sophos, as the guest, was dragged away to try the first slice, a strange tradition that he was just familiar enough with not to question. Gen used to say it was to test for poison, but Gen always did have a flair for the dramatic, and the untrue.
He took a bite and passed around the pizza, but when he looked back to where Helen had been standing he saw her duck out into the back hallway, phone pressed to her ear.
Disappointment lasted only a second before he seated himself on the carpet beside those he knew best, those who had also been dragged into Gen’s inner circle. Irene was beside Gen, looking entirely too graceful for someone eating pizza on the floor, and on her other side was Relius, who was peering around the room with a keen glint in his eye. He always seemed to know too much about Sophos, so he usually avoided him.
Teleus was nicer, as was Costis—both always courteous even when they didn’t have the most in common. Kamet was newer to the group, and Sophos had only met him a few times before his time away, but he liked him, and they shared a love of poetry even when their tastes differed wildly.
“Sophos!” Gen cried as he settled himself. “Tell us of your adventures, Helen tells us you were captured by pirates.” He was wearing a hook today, and he waggled it accordingly. Sophos was more used to seeing him with his false hand, but had to admit the hook was probably more useful.
Sophos smiled down at his lap. “They were privateers, and it was all on land,” he said. “It’s not as exciting as it sounds, really.” It wasn’t. He’d been working as an assistant to the ambassador of a small country on the Mediterranean, and their embassy had been the target of the political rivals to the host country’s leadership. It had made a few headlines, but really, they were all treated so excellently, and the stakes were never higher than the threat of a papercut while filing, that their freedom hardly made any difference at all save for Sophos’s ability to fly home when his internship was over. It had mostly been lonely, spending nearly a year in nearly complete isolation with only his own self-doubt for company.
“I read about that,” Kamet said. “You’re lucky Ithomenes decided to put pressure on the situation. A shame you didn’t get to explore the country much, though.”
Sophos nodded, but Gen cut off any response with a scoff.
“Everything good was already inside the embassy,” he said. “Tell me, Sophos, did you pick the locks on the door like I taught you? Have you got all the state secrets you need to blackmail your way to the next open position?”
Irene beside him rolled her eyes and lazily whacked him on the arm, and Sophos laughed.
“Gen, whether or not I know where the missiles are stored is my own business.” Gen affected mock outrage, but Sophos ploughed on. “What about you all, what have I missed when I was away?”
“Oh, you know us Sophos, we’re predictably boring. We lounge, we drink, we throw eggs at each other’s windows,” Costis said, receiving a sharp look from Irene on the final point.
“Well, I’ve missed it,” Sophos said. “I could use a little lounging after months of sitting up straight.”
There was a beat of silence where Sophos had expected casual assent, and he had a moment of bone-deep regret, though he couldn’t place where he had misstepped. The conversation continued moments afterwards, though, and his terror faded. It might’ve been nothing, he thought.
They’d finished the pizza and were in the process of passing around more drinks when Helen returned, followed closely by her cousin Boagus. She seemed to bring the room to a halt with her entrance, concern writ across her face, before it sprang to life again, most of the others getting to their feet and hurriedly stuffing the stacks of pizza boxes in the trash.
“Listen, Sophos,” Teleus was saying, a hand on his shoulder as he walked them both towards the door, “looks like we’re gonna have to have an emergency residents’ meeting right now, something about the rent. We’ll catch up later, alright?”
Sophos could only nod, bewildered. At the door, he craned his neck to wave goodbye to Gen, who he could see amid the throng of movement. Gen raised his hand in acknowledgment, but there was a coldness to his features that had Sophos glancing away immediately. He nodded at Teleus and stepped out onto the staircase landing, into a day that seemed much less pleasant than before.
He took off his jacket on the way home, just a little too warm in it and more frustrated by that than he could put words to.
It was silly. Unmet expectations were nothing to throw a fit over, but he just felt stupid for planning his day around something that had attracted none of the same attention from anyone else. He went home and sat in his bare apartment on his cheap new couch and tried his best to distract himself, forgoing his new book of plays for trash TV that was altogether more soothing to his roiled emotions.
His father called two hours into his Bachelor marathon, and Sophos scowled at the name on his screen, wishing again that he was still at the party so that he’d have a reasonable excuse to ignore it. As it was, he accepted the call and held the phone to his ear in resignation.
“Are you settled yet?” his father asked, abandoning common courtesy as usual. “The Council on Foreign Relations are holding a reception tomorrow at the Wilson Center, you could take a train down in the morning and be back by midnight. Senator Lomenus will be there and I hear he’s very amenable to taking on new interns at the moment.”
“Dad, interning for a senator is not what I want to be doing right now,” Sophos said, rubbing his eyes. His father, chief of staff to another, much less important senator, would never take the hint.
“Lomenus isn’t just any senator, Sophos! His influence—“
“Dad,” Sophos interrupted calmly, “I have to focus on my thesis right now.” It’s not like he’d consider working for a senator even after his thesis was well and finished, but he didn’t need to lay that out quite yet.
“That can wait!” he said. “What 23-year-old has their Master’s, anyway. You have to take advantage of opportunities now, or else it’ll be too late to get those essential connections. What am I always telling you about networking, Sophos?”
Sophos settled into the couch cushions a little more, listening to his father lecture on topics he’d heard a million times before. It was verging on an hour when Sophos interrupted.
“Oh, sorry Dad,” he said, trying to sound harried, “my neighbor’s at the door, can I talk to you later? And sorry I can’t make it to the reception, I’ve got plans tomorrow.” He hung up quickly, without giving his father a chance to object. He heaved out a sigh, went to boil water for ramen, and sent two quick texts to Ina and Eurydice, mostly out of sympathy for their still being trapped with dad.
He spent the next day buried in his thesis, writing frantically in a burst of momentum he wasn’t likely to pass up, but by Sunday he was recovered, and even reasonably cheerful. He’d seen posts about a potluck at the Compound and was gearing up to swing round himself, knowing that the Compound potlucks invited one and all.
He’d picked up a babka from a local bakery and headed over before he could talk himself out of it—if he wanted friends, he’d need to make the effort. And he needed friends.
He sighed and readjusted the wrapped package in his arms as he crossed the final street again, psyching himself up to be cheerful and interesting and funny. Not that he was ever good at that, but he could try.
He passed under the arch and was puzzled to find the door to the entry hall closed. He heard voices just beyond, though, and knocked tentatively on the wide wooden doors.
It opened immediately, just a fraction, and Sophos was surprised to see Relius peering out suspiciously. His gaze relaxed slightly when he recognized Sophos, but he didn’t open the door any further. Sophos heard Gen call out something inside.
“Uh,” Sophos said eloquently, “hi. The potluck’s today, right? I thought I’d drop this off,” he raised the babka halfheartedly.
“Sorry, kid,” Relius said, and for once, he really did seem sorry. “It’s a closed event this time.”
“Oh,” Sophos said. He’d just begun to nod when Relius shut the door again, leaving Sophos to backtrack, trying not to look too obviously dejected.
He sat on the first bench he came across, a ratty wooden thing that looked out on a busy intersection and a building under construction, and rested his chin on his hand. He hadn’t quite worked through his initial embarrassment when he noticed someone sit down beside him.
He did a double take when he saw Irene.
“Hi,” he croaked out.
“Hello,” she said, serene.
“What’s—I mean, why—“
She smiled slightly for a moment, and Sophos smiled nervously back. He really didn’t know her well enough to interpret any of this. “I’m sorry you came all this way, Sophos,” she said. “I hope you won’t take it as a personal offense. It’s only that people’s lives go different directions, sometimes. Growth is a personal thing, and everyone needs the right environment to do that in.”
Sophos didn’t really understand, but he got the gist of it. “Uh, yeah, okay,” he said, standing. He nodded at her. “Sounds good. Thanks for explaining.”
He hurried off, realizing belatedly that he’d left the babka. He hoped she’d take it and put it to good use, his last offering after being summarily kicked out of that friend group.
His flight instinct took him all the way home, where he didn’t bother to turn on any of the lights despite the scant, gloomy light that filtered in through the window before he sat himself neatly on the couch and tipped over.
He lay there, processing, for close to an hour before he tugged his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. His list of friends was small, and he scowled when he saw Hyacinth’s name, nearly deleting it on sight. But that wouldn’t stop the traitor from texting, so he left it.
There was Ochto and Dirnes, both the closest thing to friends he’d had in the embassy, but they had little in common now. A few former classmates that he’d neglected for years, one or two dates-turned-friends-turned-strangers from Tinder, and his family. He sighed and slid his phone across the coffee table.
He didn’t get it. He’d been almost entirely inoffensive at the party; he’d barely stayed long enough to be any type of annoying. So it must have been something he’d done before he left for the embassy, some defect of character that had manifested too strongly among people who were much cooler than him anyways. He knew he had a tendency to get annoying, even whiny, when he felt too comfortable, and he had been feeling comfortable before he left.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over so that he was facing the ceiling. It was disheartening to know that his own, pathetic personality would betray him no matter how close he got to making friends.
Eventually, he emailed Helen again. After determined moping interspersed with steadfast denial and repression, and after he’d met with his advisor and managed a proper, productive grocery trip, he thought that maybe there was something to salvage there. She had, after all, been in contact with him long after the others had clearly decided their time was better spent otherwise.
Following nearly two hours of writing and rewriting—and rewriting, again—he pressed send on a fairly bland email updating her on the usual subjects of family, studies, and trash TV, only mentioning the first party in passing. He turned his phone off five minutes after sending it, furious with himself for how often he was checking for a reply.
Her response didn’t come for two days, an entirely reasonable window but one that tormented Sophos terribly. The trial of the waiting was superseded by just how bewildering the reply turned out to be.
Sophos,
It’s very nice to hear from you. I enjoyed seeing you at the party as well; why don’t you stop by The Compound again sometime? How’s tomorrow at 8? I’ll meet you out front.
Thanks,
Helen
The elation he’d first felt when reading the invitation was quickly overtaken by the realization that he’d never seen an email from her with such an odd, formal tone. She hadn’t even called him Bunny, a nickname she’d picked up from one of his brasher colleagues at the embassy. And it was short, though if she wanted to meet in person to exchange updates that, at least, made sense.
Unless she wanted to meet in person to officially cut things off. He almost wished she would do the easy thing and just ghost him, but she was too kind. He sighed, returning to the pot of soup he’d abandoned entirely when his phone had chimed. He’d be there tomorrow, that was certain, but he wondered if he’d get any sleep in the intervening hours.
He didn’t—or rather, none that he remembered. It’s quite possible he dozed off in between his sessions of agonizing, and he nearly remembered a dream where things went terribly. He had been enough influenced by Gen, though, to have invested in basic concealer and foundation, so he didn’t think he looked too terrible when he set off to the Compound, wearing his favorite coat once more. If nothing else, it would be a consolation on the walk home. And this time, it was certainly cool enough for it.
He was just stepping onto the crosswalk across from the Compound when he saw something amiss—an absence of lights in windows, nearly all of them. He knew that every apartment in the complex was occupied, it always was at such cheap rent, so even if a party or potluck had drawn a few people away from their homes, there’d still be enough left to light up more windows than the paltry three he could see from the street.
He looked around, looking for a clue, and came face to face with a man that had been sitting in a van at the stoplight just moments before. Sophos stepped back automatically, mouth open to ask if he could help him, when someone else approached from the side and shoved a bag over his head.
Sophos didn’t consider himself a fighter in any way. He’d been picked on enough at school to have realized that any damage he could do was incidental at best, and his father had never even bothered to teach him how to throw a punch (his sister had, but he hadn’t paid much attention). Still, he was big. His colleagues at the embassy had mocked him for his quick growth over his months there, and he’d had to help as much as anyone else with the menial work of hauling in boxes and furniture.
So when hands grabbed his arms, he did his best to lash out and leverage his own weight against them, shouting all the while as he struggled to recall if there had been another car at the stoplight, and if someone might see him. This wasn’t an abandoned street, surely someone would hear him and call the police, surely if he—
There was a blinding flash of pain to the head, then darkness.
He woke up in a dark closet, a gag in his mouth and his hands bound. Fluorescent light filtered in from under the door, and the room was otherwise empty. He tested the walls and floor, but they were sturdy concrete. He shuffled over to the door, positioning his feet so that he could get the leverage to kick through.
It was nice that they hadn’t bound him to a chair, he thought, as he pounded against the door with both feet. It was giving way, he could feel it, and when light started to shine from the edge he propped himself up on his knees and shouldered it the rest of the way open.
He saw legs, and he looked up to see an exasperated man staring down at him. The man raised a club, and Sophos was unconscious again.
He woke in a different room the next time, with better lighting and a polished wood floor. Only his hands were bound, and he was lying on the couch across from a very, very buff man in a chair.
The man met his eyes, and Sophos tried not to grimace.
He levered himself up clumsily. “Why am I here?”
“You’re valuable to your captors,” the man said.
Sophos squinted. “Are you my captor?”
“No.”
“But you’re not a prisoner,” Sophos said, probing.
“In a sense,” the man said, then relented. “I’m Pol.”
“Sophos. If you’re sort of a prisoner, do you want to escape with me? I bet we could pry up these floors and get somewhere.”
Pol shook his head. “I’m here to keep you from doing that. Apologies.”
“Why would you do what they—”
“I do what I have to to keep my family safe,” Pol said, cutting him off. “I’ve been in their employ in this underground facility for years, and in return my family not only stays alive, they get a yearly stipend. I used to try to escape, but they killed the family dog last time. So now, I help them keep kids like you cooped up,” he finished, looking fairly disgusted with himself.
“Um,” Sophos said, trying to be kind, “I don’t think anyone would’ve done any different. I’m glad your family’s safe. Can I ask, do they know where—”
“I’m dead to the world,” Pol said. “But don’t worry, I don’t think that’s what they’ve got you here for. I reckon it’ll be more like a ransom, and then you can go back to your regular life. Except maybe a threat or two to keep this entire ordeal away from the authorities. You have family you care about?” He paused to read Sophos’s face, and nodded. “Yeah, you won’t be telling anyone. My best wishes to you.”
“What if we get rescued?” Sophos blurted out, after a moment of stony silence.
Pol sent him a withering look. “Does anyone know where you were going? Do you live with anybody who might wonder why you didn’t come home?”
Sophos shook his head.
“Exactly. They’re careful about these things.”
“What about the ransom? They’ll have to tell someone they’ve got me if they want money for me. And—wait—do you know who they’re asking the ransom from?”
Pol shrugged. “Chances are, someone you know is associated with their world. And if that’s the case, that someone will be just as inclined to keep these things discreet as anyone.”
“Their world?” Sophos asked.
“Sophos,” Pol said, almost pitying. “Listen, just stay put and don’t kick down any more walls, and you won’t get any more head wounds. The best way to stay safe and get out of here alive is to do what they say.”
“I don’t want to leave you here,” Sophos said quietly.
“No one does, but they do. It’s the right thing to do almost every time, and brings down the least retribution. My life down here isn’t so bad, if that’s all the price I pay to keep my family alive—and whoever else’s family alive—then so be it.”
Sophos sighed, but didn’t push it. He briefly wondered who of his family and friends could be tied to such cruel people, but dismissed all his theories quickly. He thought it was more likely that this was all a mistake, and that his captors would realize his insignificance soon enough. He wondered briefly about his father’s political ties, but didn’t think his father was important or rich enough to blackmail seriously.
Eventually, when Pol settled down to sleep on the cot behind him, Sophos laid back down on the couch and did his best to hope that when he woke, it’d be over.
It didn’t go exactly to plan.
He woke to more hands dragging him out, more than he could dream of fighting off. He did his best to cause pain where he could, but there was little he could do to actually resist them taking him to another room.
Someone hit him across the face two times, and another punched him in the stomach. Behind him, someone grabbed his hair and forced his head up, and the blinding light of a camera flash went off.
He was returned to that same room not long after, nursing what felt like very delicate ribs and a certainly broken nose. He didn’t listen to Pol when he started fussing, only laid down and fell asleep again, miserable and exhausted.
He and Pol only had porridge to eat, though occasionally someone would dump an egg into it to cook alongside the oats. It was all rather disgusting, but no one else came to break Sophos’s face, so he counted his blessings.
“So who do you think will miss you first,” Pol asked, “if you don’t get out of here soon?”
Sophos hummed, not at all perturbed by the question. “I guess my uncle Magus. We had plans to go to this obscure art history show on the 26th.”
Pol sat up from where he’d been reclined lazily. “Magus?” he asked. “Not from the Compound.”
Sophos nodded, confused.
Pol threw back his head in exasperation and chuckled slightly. “Well that could’ve saved some confusion. No wonder you’re down here.”
“Wh—”
A gunshot sounded from down the hall, and Sophos must’ve jumped three feet in the air. Shouting followed, and more gunshots, and Sophos felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Get behind cover,” Pol said, pointing at the dresser he’d tipped over. “They might not come in here, but you don’t want to be an accident.”
Sophos nodded and leapt to crouch behind the dresser with Pol, listening to the crashes and chaos outside with his heart racing, mind blank.
When the door banged open, Sophos stayed hidden, hoping whoever it was would just go away. He nearly fell over when he heard the voice.
“Sophos, my friend, tell me you’re in here or my cousin will start throwing things.”
Sophos poked his head over the dresser to see Gen, standing there with a gun held loosely in his hand. “What?”
Gen grinned. “Excellent! Let’s get out of here, then.”
Pol got up beside him, and Gen’s grin froze. “Pol?” he asked, shocked.
Pol exhaled, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Good to see you, gutter scum.”
Gen cackled disbelievingly, then waved them forward with his hand—the only one he had, therefore the one holding the gun. Sophos flinched back slightly, but followed all the same.
Sounds of chaos still echoed down every hallway, but Gen was always good at avoiding people if he wanted to, and it was almost simple to reach daylight. Outside, Magus and Irene were leaned against a large van, and Sophos received hugs from each of them in turn—and after a few shocked exclamations, Pol got hugs as well. The door behind them banged open not long after, revealing Helen, Costis and Teleus looking windswept and slightly bloody.
Sophos barely had time to register them all before being shunted into the van, the others piling in behind him. Helen turned in her seat to face him as Gen tore out of the small lot and into the street.
“You’re alright?” she asked. Sophos saw her eyes track the blood he knew stained his face in too many places.
“Just fine,” he said, mind sluggishly attempting to put the pieces together. “What—why--?”
Helen nodded obligingly. “Uh,” she hesitated. “You know the mafia? We’re sort of that.”
Sophos blinked, then nodded. “Alright.”
“You’re taking this pretty well,” Gen called from the driver’s seat.
“Well, I certainly have a concussion,” Sophos said mildly, “so this makes as much sense as anything. Maybe I’ll start yelling later.”
“I’m sorry,” Helen said in a low tone, as Costis and Irene to either side of her looked determinedly away, attempting to give some modicum of privacy. “You were never supposed to be part of any of this. It’s gotten more dangerous these last few months, and we should’ve never invited you over in the first place.”
“Wait,” Sophos said. “You all didn’t want me at the Compound because of shady dangerous things? Not because—” He stopped himself, just barely.
Costis turned to look at him. “We like you a lot, bud. Hope you never thought differently, though I hear the talk Irene gave you was—” he stopped, too, after Irene shot him a look.
“Anyway,” Helen said, “you’re coming home with us now. If they know you, there’s no better place to be than in the Compound.”
“I’d like to help, if I can,” Sophos said.
“You don’t even know what we do,” Attolia said.
“I know you guys, though. I know what kind of people you are.”
Helen smiled softly at him, and it took everything Sophos had not to melt completely.
“By the way, Sophos,” Gen called, “nice jacket!”