Thomas and Christine
Tom held up the cylinder, studied it closely, ignoring his surge of panic. The odd object had no blemishes, no scratches, no smudges—it was perfectly smooth, perfectly shiny.
"Piece of cake," he muttered with a pitiful attempt at a laugh. "Waltz into Tomikins's house and smash this against something. Piece of cake."
"Yeah, dude, piece of cake," Max said. Tom couldn't help but wish he could trade places with Max, broken arm and all.
"You heard him," Hana said. "You heard Professor Atticus. We'll be watching your every move, and we'll come save you as soon as . . ." She trailed off, and Tom wished desperately that no one would say another word.
"I'm going," he said, pushing the fear away. Now or never. Just move.
"I'm going right now. Molly, can I have that bag of yours?"