Juliet’s voice echoed up the stairwell as Matheus emerged from the bathroom. He stood in the hallway, clothes clinging to his damp frame, water dripping down the back of his neck. Shifting his bundle of dirty laundry, Matheus weighed his desire for information against his fear of being eaten and molested. The decision didn’t take long.
“What are you doing here?” Milo asked.
“Hiding.” Matheus set his clothes by the door, then picked his way through the tangled wires. He half-sat, half-leaned on the windowsill, pulling his hands inside the sleeves of his sweater. “Juliet’s downstairs.”
“Juliet?” Milo flicked a glance at Matheus. A plain text file covered the middle screen, cursor blinking at the end of a long string of numbers.
“Thin blonde, dresses like a Niemen Marcus mannequin..”
“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Milo glanced at Matheus again, then tapped the papers on the desk into a neat stack. Keeping his eyes on the paper, Milo typed in more numbers. The keys clicked; the wind blew in through the open pane.
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