Holden walked into the main bunker living area carrying a sack the size of a small child.
Everyone was there. Emric sat at the table, polishing his glasses with a cloth that was dirtier than the glasses. Renna was lying on the floor with her bow on her chest, staring at the ceiling and mumbling about arrows. Lyra stood by the window, watching the rain, her spear resting against the wall beside her.
Maeve was at her radar station in the corner, tablet propped up, scanning the perimeter.
Holden dropped the sack on the table.
THUD.
The table cracked down the middle of one leg, and the whole thing tilted sideways, spilling Emric's cleaning cloth and the small stack of tactical papers he had been organizing.
"What," Emric said calmly, staring at the tilting table, "is that."
"Money." Holden pulled the sack open.
