Good as Your Word

Cricket snorted. “You ain’t gettin’ info that easy.”
The master smirked. “You are familiar with water torture?”
“Sure am.”
Lin’s master was taken aback by his stony responses. “You’re not afraid?”
“Nope. I’m from New York. Waddeah expect? I’ve seen everything.”
“Enough of your nonsense!” the master roared. “Take Tan to the old man! Come, Livingston. We will see if you are as good as your word.”

Two goons roughly tossed me into a barren cell.
I whipped around. “Master!” I shrieked in delight. The little old man I considered family sat on a pile of wet straw, his white brows knitted but his face lit up in joy and relief.
I restrained myself from throwing myself onto his shoulders long enough to bow respectfully, but hugged him instantly after.
“Xiaoli, what took you so long?” he growled lightly. Yep, same old Master.
“Cricket,” I whispered, having a mild epiphany.
“You still around him?”
“No, Cricket,” I said again, standing again. “I have to help him. I promised.”

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