Barbosa was still on the floor. His eyebrows were gone, burnt off, actually. A guild master who had walked into this chamber forty minutes ago with three hundred men and an attitude was now a man lying in catacomb dust, while his former prisoner ran a soup stall three feet away, and the worst part was that the soup smelled incredible.
"Camp here," Liam said, looking back at the group. "The Ruby Eyed guys can watch the door. They seem to be good at lying on the ground."
"Gladly, Chef," Mirra said, her lion ears at full height, her voice carrying the specific warmth of a woman who had watched someone she disliked get used as a ghoul-delivery system and was still processing the joy of it.
What followed was not a dignified camp setup. Noir and Berry arrived at the same large flat rock at the same time from opposite directions, both of them holding cleaning implements they had produced from their inventories with suspicious speed.
