“Ah, there you are my friend!”

I clutch Fyodors hands in mine, a bashful smile on my face.

Me and Fyodor were clothes friends— both members of the Angels of Decay. Though I deliberately wanted to assassinate the man, part of me always enjoyed his company.

And so, here we were in the Mersault prison, trying to flee the place.

“Now now, have any grand ideas in that head of yours, Fyodor? Or are we going to stand here all day?” My smirk is full of excitement.

This’ll be fun.