"What is it?" Matthews's cold and impatient voice sounded through the curse smartphone addressing the boy, while making a mental note to help her daughter and Layla revise the meaning of the word emergency.
"One of the surviving curse terrorists has the curse prosthetics of Mr. Birdie. Dee3 needs it back to conduct a proper funeral to our town's hero," I got to the point, planning to head back and help with funeral arrangements as soon as possible.
Listening to me, Matthew's face contorted into a grimace and distress filled one, before she cussed, "Damn it!"
"What's wrong?" I immediately asked Matthews as my brows furrowed into a thick knot.
"We already turned in the evidence and properties of the curse terrorists at the local C.I.B. branch headquarters and are on our way to the secret base to transfer the curse terrorists. Why didn't you contact us sooner?" Matthews remarked sternly as if it were somehow the boy's fault.
