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Cally looked anxiously at the outer door. “Hurry,” she hissed.

Vila, tinkering with the lock on the other door, whined and grumbled. “I'm going as fast as I can. Don't you think I want to be out of here as well?”

She gave him an exasperated stare, and kept her weapon pointed at their only exit. If they were caught...

“I'm in!” Vila said triumphantly, then clapped his hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”

Cally just shook her head, and walked cautiously into the dark cell, trying to look both ways at once. She peered into the corners of the room. “Avon? Avon, where are you?”

A groan from the corner brought them both hurrying over. Avon was clutching his middle, huddled on a stained mattress in the corner. Battered and bruised, he looked about as terrible as Cally could imagine he'd ever been.

“God, you stink,” Vila muttered. “Come on, let's get you out of here.” He, rather valiantly, Cally thought, got his arm under Avon, and started to haul him upright.

Slightly reluctantly, she took his other side, and between them, they helped him to shuffle towards the door.

“You're late,” slurred Avon.

Sometimes, Cally wondered why they even bothered.

Vila just sniffed. “Some people are never happy...”

But he was the happiest she'd seen him since Avon had gone missing. And so was she.