“You get your life,” Xandria said. “Don’t act so ungrateful.” She made a motion with her hand, and two men in black suits appeared.

“Where were they when we needed them?”

“I need them now.”

August caught a glimpse of guns underneath their coats.

Xandria noticed. “They’re FBI. Only way to get a gun into the airport anymore. Of course, they’re handy for other things too.”

They seized August and spun him around, slapping a set of cuffs on his wrists. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Xandria got in his face. “Only a fool would think you wouldn’t bolt at the first opportunity. But that just won’t do. We still need you, August.”

“For what? Just let me go.”

“Now? Right before the finish line? I don’t think so.”

The ride to the warehouse reminded August of his experience driving to the courthouse with April to sign their divorce papers. The tension boiled practically to the point of overflow, but he felt a tangible need to keep a lid on it, let the bubbles churn until the proper moment of release.

“Are we there yet?” August said. At least the bad joke made everyone else as ill at ease as he was.

“It wasn’t funny the last time you asked, and it still isn’t funny now,” one of the agents said, pulling back his jacket just enough to reveal his gun.

“Point taken,” August said. “Maybe we could all sing ‘Kumbaya’?”

The agent pulled out his gun. “Can I?” he asked Xandria.

“No,” she said. “I mean, you know, not now anyway.”

The limo pulled into a warehouse driveway and stopped. Xandria got out first, followed by the two agents, leaving August to exit unaided, his hands still fastened tightly behind his back. His foot slipped on a shifting mat, and he toppled out of the vehicle, landing face-first on the pavement. One of the agents pulled him to his feet, shaking his head at the sight of August’s bloodied face.

“I think I broke my nose,” August said.

Without warning, the agent landed a fist in the exact location of August’s misery. “Now you know it’s broken,” he said.

August’s knees buckled, but the other agent caught his fall. “You should have a matching pair of ribs,” he said, gunning a punch into August’s abdomen.

Like vultures taking alternating picks at a carcass, the two agents thrashed August. Xandria watched for a moment before stopping them.

“That’s enough!” she said. “Cornelius is coming, and I doubt he’ll be impressed by you beating a man in handcuffs.”

“Cornelius is here,” a voice said. “And you’re completely right.”

The agents let August go. They straightened their jackets and inspected their shirts for splatters of crimson.

Cornelius walked over to August and looked down at the quivering figure on the ground. “Is this our savior?” he asked.

“I hope so,” Xandria said.