Mrs. Fukushima strolled into her mansion, tossed her phone and bag on the couch, and collapsed on it.
Her housekeeper walked in, took the bag and shoes, then left with them.
Mrs. Fukushima's phone rang, and she picked it up. "Mr. London," she said.
"Is Godfrey in that dungeon?" he asked.
"He's not. I still believe we can deal with it. We've dealt with several others before he came."
"Not this one. You're stubborn, Mrs. Fukushima. Too stubborn and proud about your country's capabilities that you can't see a free meal even when it's served on your table."
Mr. London's voice made her frown. "We tend to trivialize what we didn't witness. It's the same for almost every human on Earth. I just saw what they faced in that dungeon in Scotland…" Mr. London squinted.
He sat cross-legged in the same room he met Godfrey, staring at the scenes that came to life on his table. It had golden intricate threads that formed everything.
