If this doesn’t work, you’ll kill me?” Quin asked.
“Yes,” said Matheus. They’d chosen one of the projection rooms, the farthest from the main room. Aside from Heaven, no one knew what he and Quin planned to do. She’d merely nodded when Matheus asked for her help, then vanished for an hour. Returning, she carried a broom and a bundle of white cloth under her arm. Matheus didn’t ask. Maybe she subscribed to more a ritualistic form of claiming. One that required a swept floor. Matheus watched, bemused, as Heaven briskly cleared away the dust and debris. The white bundle rested on a stack of film canisters.
“I want your word,” said Quin. He stood on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, fingers digging into his biceps.
“Fine, fine,” said Matheus.
“I will see that he honors it.” Heaven leaned the broom against the wall. From the white bundle, she retrieved a pocketknife. The blade flicked open with a sharp snap. She walked to the center of the room, holding her hands out to Matheus and Quin. “Come here.”
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