Karma stared at him for a long, slow ten seconds. Then she reached under the counter and pulled out a ring of rusted keys that looked like medieval torture devices. “I’m not letting you in,” she said. “I’m coming with you. I’ve been waiting six years for a reason to ruin Chet Marlin’s day.” The storm drain was cold, wet, and smelled like old secrets. Karma moved with a surprising grace, her boots splashing quietly. Barn followed, clutching a butterfly net and a Tupperware container.
Chet scrambled to his feet. “The police will hear about this! Breaking and entering! Shrimp theft!” Tanked
“He calls himself a chef,” Karma muttered, her voice echoing. “He uses squeeze cheese as a binder.” Karma stared at him for a long, slow ten seconds