“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Luis, and strode forward, turning the handle before kicking the door open, bringing his blowtorch up and aiming it directly in front of him. Theodore Blackwell, sitting in Jillian’s desk chair, lifted his head and looked quizzically at Luis. “What are you planning to do with that?” he asked. “I am neither a marshmallow to roast nor a seam to solder. You might be better off with a brick, assuming you can find one. Blunt trauma is traditional for a reason.”
