Elara keyed in the access code for their new quarters with the same expression she used when cleaning blood off her null-blade. The door slid open on a sleek high-security tower suite.
White walls, reinforced windows overlooking the floating districts of Middle Heaven, and enough monitoring crystals embedded in the ceiling to watch a small army.
"Secure residence," she muttered. "Finally."
Atlas stepped in behind her. The door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk. Then the lights flickered once, twice, and the entire apartment groaned like it was waking up from a bad nap.
A coffee table materialized in the middle of the living room with a wet smack. An orc battle axe was buried halfway through the wood, still dripping black blood.
"What the—" Elara drew her sidearm.
The axe handle had fresh fingerprints on it. A Victorian tea set appeared on a side shelf. One of the cups whispered, "She's definitely into him. Look at the way she stands."
