Lucas was, of course, silent as the cultists began to demand where their demon lord had gotten off to. The scrawny man gave away nothing, knowing full well that they would kill him whether he gave up information or not. As his persistent silence went on, the cultists grew more aggravated. One grabbed him by the front of his sweater and shook him.

"Do you think this is a game?!" He bellowed into Lucas's ear. Through the now ringing in his ears, Lucas could hear the scrape of metal on concrete. One of the men picked up a rusty crowbar and began to approach them. Lucas remained frozen to the spot, unable to fight, and unable to flee the grip of the man who held onto him.

Then, behind him, a new man strolled in. His voice made Lucas jump, and the cultists whipped their heads around to look at him. The one holding onto Lucas let go to approach him angrily.

Lucas was about to turn and make a run for it when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. He jumped and whirled around, only for the warehouse to be suddenly gone and replaced by what looked like a dark, dull basement. Lucas's wild, dark eyes landed on the face of the woman from the cafe, Priscilla. The relief from the man was tangible. His willowy body trembled, his heart beating out of his chest from the whole ordeal. Lucas lowered himself to the floor, afraid that he would fall if he remained on his feet. His hands were still zip-tied in front of him, his broken wrist looking nasty, swollen, and purple.