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“That would be the best course of action,”

Alessio’s words of confirmation stun Nithel, and he’s shocked his words were considered.

“By your postulation, sir,” Alessio continued, “‘your uncle’ could banter from our logic to his as infinitely as pi and would do much better to either choose the box blindfolded or make both of them traps.”

Alessio crossed his arms and made a provocative stance. Nithel lifted his chin, eyes on the back of his friend’s head. What are you going to do?

“And I managed to get that out in just two sentences, sir.”

Nithel’s eyes widened a small bit, lips not changing expression. Did you rea- Yes, you did. Nithel shuts his eyes, and looks down a moment, missing the look Alessio sent him.

Then someone coughs, and Nithel looks back up, eyes catching on Virtus. His hand is in one of the boxes, and then popping a ‘sweet’ into his mouth.

“Egad.” Nithel grunts in a tone that could have been mistaken for a curse, his lips staying parted. Then he turns in a quick circle, face toward the ceiling, shutting his eyes again. He grunts more mentally, Noy noy noy noy noy…

When he looked again, Virtus was gone. What? Nithel’s shoulders rolled back, and he stared at where the man had been a moment before. His eyes dart toward Isaac, their leader, and then to Alessio. What? Noy. How?

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