FIA
Thorne came back with his arms full.
Two Hazmat suits, folded with the practiced efficiency of someone who kept things orderly out of genuine conviction rather than habit. A pair of heavy-grade gloves, thick enough that I could see the bulk of them from across the room. A pair of pincers. A blade, small and precise. And then he produced a ziplock bag from somewhere and set it on the counter beside everything else like it was the most ordinary collection of items a person had ever assembled at two in the morning.
He looked at me.
I looked at him.
"We're not wearing these inside the estate," I said.
"Agreed." He was already picking the things up, distributing them between us. He handed me a set of the gloves and the ziplock bag without ceremony. "We'd have about thirty questions before we made it to the door."
"We put them on once we're clear of the main building. Far enough that no one wandering to the bathroom can look out a window and get curious."
