Colby led Sophie to a room tucked away at the back on the left side. As the door swung open, he instinctively shielded Sophie from the dust clinging to the doorway.
It took Sophie a moment to fully absorb the room's appearance. It was a cramped space, barely 100 square feet, with three bunk beds whose metal frames were badly rusted. The room was bare, save for a simple stand holding a copper basin.
Colby’s description of the place as ‘modest’ was definitely putting it mildly.
“There’s nothing worth seeing here; it’s filthy. Let’s head out,” Colby murmured, gently pulling on Sophie’s arm. But instead of leaving, she grew curious and asked, “Which bed is yours?”
“Right there,” Colby pointed to the bottom bunk in the corner.
“So, you share this room with Griffin and Odie?” she inquired.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
“What about the other three beds?” she pressed.
“We were the last ones to arrive, so it’s just the three of us here,” he explained.
“And your job with the White family, it's being bodyguards, right?”
“That's right,” Colby replied.
Sophie moved over to where Colby used to sleep. The bed was still neat, but the whole room was steeped in a musty, old smell.
The tiny room was equipped with just one exhaust fan, not even a ceiling fan to stir the air. In the summer, it was suffocating; in the winter, it was as chilly as a cellar. Spring and autumn were the worst, with the damp, sticky air making it unbearable to linger even for a second.
Comments
The readers' comments on the novel: Revenge is best served cold