His eyes roamed the room. There had to be something he could use toescape. Certainly not the stairs where still new cultists arrived. Thewindows? That...would be an option. A desperate one. Death or grave injurya given chance. Still, Gabriel made his way over to one. His escortshifted with him. But then, halfway to the nearest window, he spied theone puzzle piece he couldn't account for. There was this strange tankfilled with the tar-like liquid. The same one the cult used in thefountains of. He said to me, ‘I’m glad Martine is becoming more at ease around you, Pierre.’ I glanced at him, wondering if there was any hidden meaning in his statement, but there did not seem to be. I felt guiltier than ever – my father and mother had been treating Martine like an adopted daughter and, unbeknown to them, I had been letting her come to my bed. ‘She’s still rather shy in many ways,’ I said. ‘That’s understandable after all she went through before she came to us.’ I, on the other hand, had. More

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