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I look up at him and there’s a faint frown on Aron’s face. I kind of feel like I just explained to someone that Santa isn’t real, but we’ve got no other choice right now. “So what do we do?” Aron asks finally.
“We go incognito. Try to get some answers. And once we know what is going on, we figure out how to send you home, and send me home.” I grab a scabbard and hold it out to Aron. “So we need weapons. And clothes. And shoes. And we need to hurry before someone else returns and sees that we’ve killed the welcoming party.”
I expect Aron to protest, but he picks up a handful of the cloak and studies it thoughtfully. “Show me how to wear clothing, then.”
A short time later, both Aron and I are both dressed in tunics stolen from the guards, belts with weapons, cloaks, and the strange, leather boots that lace up the side of the ankle. I’ve taken the allegiance tags from the guards and pocketed them. I’m holding onto the money, too, because I don’t trust Aron to remember how important something like that is. I just wish I knew how much we had, but the coins here don’t look like anything I can tie back to specific dollar amounts.
I’m pretty much the worst anchor he could have picked, ever. But we share a common goal at least—getting home.
It’ll have to be enough for now.
“I do not like this,” Aron tells me as we slip out of the secret passageway, clutching our weapons. He’s got a sword and I’m holding a dagger in tight, sweaty fingers.
“Me either, buddy,” I tell him. “Me either.”
God, I really, really want to go home.