Thorn and the Judge had discovered to their dismay that the abandoned foundry had many exits. From outside, its towering brick walls lent it the appearance of a fortress, but once they’d cornered Shane inside, they found the foundry replete with back windows, back doors, staircases, overhead walkways, and even a cellar. The chase had lasted half an hour, and now they had him cornered by a pile of old sand molds. Shane was spry even for a teenager, bouncing from one foot to the other, ready to bolt as soon as Thorn or the Judge let his guard down. “Little—” Shane began, then stopped. Sweat drizzled down his temples and mixed with the tears flowing from his bloodshot eyes. “Little puny demons! I could kill you right now if I—if I wanted to. I could, you know. Because I’m evil!” He hissed at them for added effect. Thorn threw a sidelong glance at the Judge, whose gelled head of hair was perfectly combed and whose V-neck suit fit just a little too tightly. His absurd sunglasses did little to hide his fear of Shane.
