“You don’t stand a chance,” said Erik. “Even with your entire pantheon.”

“I just want to get to the truth,” said Brigid. Her hand had moved farther away from the gun. She didn't seem confident about her initial reaction to reach for the weapon, but her pride refused to admit an easy truce.

“For whom?”

Brigid hesitated. “For my team.”

Maitho frowned. He made a mental note about her response.

The Valkyrie hadn’t moved. She simply stood there in the middle of the hall, her eyes glued to Brigid and the ax pointed at the ground. If it wasn’t for the subtle rising and falling of her chest, she might as well have been another statue.

“Your team whom you don’t pay attention to,” said Erik.

Maitho wanted to interrupt Brigid before she responded, knowing all too well that the remark made by Erik was a trap. The Norse Guardian wasn’t there to merely make an observation. He wanted to get a reaction. It was an obvious attempt to throw someone off their game.

It was too late to stop Brigid. “My job is to protect my team, not to referee their debates.”

“They need a friend, not a referee,” said Erik. He reached for an object on his desk. A remote control. Pointing it at the wall behind his desk, he pressed a button. The sound of a beep was followed by two panels sliding open, revealing a large monitor that looked like it could be used in a small movie theater.

“They need a leader,” said Brigid. It was her attempt at a last word.

Erik simply looked at her. He didn’t even nod to acknowledge. Behind him, the screen turned on, displaying the image of Jennifer Yansay.

“By the end of tomorrow,” said Erik. “Jennifer will be killed.” He pressed another button. The image of Jennnifer slid to the right and was replaced by pictures of five people arranged side-by-side, with a description below each mugshot. There were three men and two women, all middle-aged, staring back at them with somber expressions. “One of these five people will carry out the nefarious deed of giving Miss Yansay the exit ticket out of this world.”

“You already know so much, but you don't know exactly who the to-be killer is?” countered Brigid, her voice condescending. Maitho was convinced she was aware of her tone, but didn’t care.

“I monitor communications, not read people’s minds Miss Danann.”

“What do you mean you monitor communications?”

“I own internet providers across the globe.”

“Which ones?”

“All of them.”

The impact of his words settled down on the group. Maitho realized that the more questions they asked, the more they realized just how less they knew and how much more intimidating their adversaries were.

He began to think about escape options. Maybe he could just slip away when they were heading down towards the lower floor after the meeting had ended. Perhaps he could find an excuse to rid himself of the team before leaving the building or at some point in the future.

Maitho pushed the thoughts away before they could sink their anchor deep. Yet the damage was done. There was a sudden need for him to create a vast divide between himself and every other Guardian, including the memebrs of the Celtic team.

Where would he go? Well, not to his apartment, that’s for certain. It was now a blackened room with soot and fire marks. He could rent a place or a hotel room, but he didn’t have the funds.

He could live on the streets. It was a thought he hadn’t entertained for a long time. The last time he had considered being a member of the homeless society was back when he had to leave the house of his adoptive parents.

He closed his eyes, shutting out the flood of memories.

“Mister Oruba?” A calm voice called his name. It was Erik.

When Maitho opened his eyes again, the room brightened for brief seconds before settling down into its regular intensity. At that moment, a wave of exhaustion threatened to pull down his eyelids. He resisted the feeling, trying to find awareness, and hopefully wakefulness, by focusing his attention on the man before him. Yet his thoughts were relentless. Without even asking for permission, his mind began to wonder if it would bother anyone if he were to simply fall down on the sofa to grab a few quick winks. Or perhaps more than a few winks. The sofa was, admittedly, comfortable.

“Sorry, I was just thinking,” Maitho managed to say.

“Heavy thoughts?” said Erik.

“All thoughts are heavy when you are about to die soon.”

“Indeed.” The response didn’t seem to elicit any empathy. Or even mild sympathy. It was merely an acceptance of the situation. A tick mark against an approved fact.

Maitho felt eyes on him and found Epona looking at him. She lowered her eyes, but did not turn her face for a few moments. It was as though she didn’t want to make eye contact, but there were things she was pondering about him. Perhaps she might have something to tell him. Eventually, she looked away, whatever thoughts she held lost to her own silence.

The conversation that they had in the car earlier returned to Maitho. While he did feel a sense of relief at being able to have a frank conversation with someone, he also felt a tinge of apprehension. It would become more difficult for him to disentangle himself from the Celtic team later on if he strengthened his connections with them. Having the ability to pour the thoughts of his mind meant sharing the drink of his troubles with someone else. It created a bond. It may not be strong, but it still existed, like the sun’s heat at sunset.

He thought back to the moments in his apartment, when the loneliness was so strong that he turned his own thoughts into another version of him just to feel the ghostly presence of someone else. During those moments, he would often wish he had a real person with whom he could exhange words.

“May I ask why you are telling us all of this?” said Bevan, breaking the silence. “You could have not told us about Jennifer. Brigid here wouldn’t have known. I mean, maybe she would have if her mind was on the mission. But she’s not focused on rescue missions right now.”

Erik’s face hardened. It wasn’t due to anger. He seemed to seriously consider the question posed to him. When he spoke, it was the voice of someone imparting great wisdom. “We have a grand goal, Mister Lugos. The five of you, including your talking car, have decided to face us. With absolute certainty, we have no doubts about our might. We can crush you,” He clenched his fist, “before realization even hits you. Your combined strength against us is like a gust of wind against a hurricane.” He pushed himself off the desk, the first movement he made that involved his entire body ever since he had asked them to eat the food on the table. “Yet among you is someone with an ability that even the Gods covet.” He looked straight at Maitho. “Unfortunately, well fortunately for us, he knows of his power, but not of its strength. The rest of you do not know of the power, and cannot fathom the strength.”

“What power is it?” said Brigid.

Maitho found himself holding his breath. This wasn’t something he had predicted. He had intentionally hidden away his ability, if only for the simple fact that it wouldn’t matter. He would never be part of the team and if that were the case, then why mention it to people he would longer meet in the future? After he had learned of his fate, it was more because it wouldn't matter anyway. In the end, he was going to die. Sharing the knowledge of his power made little difference or brought hardly any comfort.

Erik walked to the edge of the sofa and made himself comfortable. He leaned back, resting his arm on the headrest and crossing his legs. “We want you to remain in the dark about your power, Mister Oruba. Knowledge is power but in your hands, it is a vicious blade. We can’t have that, unless you are pointing the weapon at our enemies.”

“You mean the Gods?” said Maitho.

Erik didn’t have to answer. There was probably only one response to the question.

“His power,” said Brigid, sending a reminder.

“All of this is juist gobshite,” said Epona. “Whit are ye tryin tae dae?”

She had come to his defense and Maitho felt the connection grow stronger. He didn’t want them to defend him or come to his aid. That would only make leaving them that much more difficult.

“Just telling the truth,” Erik said. There was no curiosity on his face. Instead, he looked amused, like he had heard something out of the ordinary.

“The only truth we neit tae know is whether ye an cray are speakin the truth.”

“I don’t care,” said Brigid, interrupting again. “I need to know his power.”

Did it really matter in the end? What difference would it make to Maitho if his secret was out or not? Some part of him resisted. Told him that no matter how grim things were, he still had to take careful steps. That meant holding on to any cards he may have.

Erik leaned forward. “Aren’t you exhausted, Mister Oruba? What is it you are fighting for, when the end has been decided?”

Maitho wanted to argue against that. He wanted to say that despite everything, he still had control over the situation. He didn't. For some reason, he found himself agree to the other man's words. His end probably could not be changed.

Brigid continued. “Either you tell me about your power, Maitho. Or I will have to get it from someone else. It’s time you stop keeping secrets.”

Erik laughed. Then he laughed some more. It was a thunderous sound that rocked his chest and caused his Adam's apple to bob like it was a bubble float on a turbulent sea. He wiped his eyes, a drop of tear sticking to his finger. When he was done, he coughed into his hand and blew audibly through his mouth. “I’m thoroughly moved by your camaraderie. I was expecting a more solidified alliance. Not this relationship of straws.”

“You don't know us very well, Mister Odinson,” said Bevan. He might have wanted to offer a rebuttal. Yet even he didn't sound so certain of his words.

Erik, for his part, waved his hand. "Don't want to. You will perish, and that's the grand finale.”

Again, his response caused Maitho to examine his words. But before he could start analyzing their deeper meaning, Brigid spoke. “I'm not letting us perish, not if I can use whatever Maitho's power is. So who's going to reveal it?”

Maitho clenched his fist. He wanted to speak out. Say something in his defense. But relaxed his hand. What was he fighting for when the end was inevitable? What gain would last minute victories give him? “I’ll tell you once we leave.”

“I need to know now.”

At that moment, Erik proclaimed in a manner that sounded like a loud announcement. “He is the descendant of Olorun, the Yoruba God of Foresight." He gave a grin. "He can see the future.”