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SHEILA WAS WAITING in the hall when he finished cleaning up. Amos felt awkward in the clothing provided by the Hoarders, like an actor dressed for a role that wasn’t his. He said as much to Sheila, embarrassed by his appearance.
“You look fine,” she said, straightening his collar. “If we’re going to do any reconnaissance inside the Enclave, we’ve got to blend in.”
She flashed him a grin. “Just imagine what would happen if the Citizens knew actual savages were running loose on their streets. Hidden in plain sight, Amos, Hoarder-style.”
He was about to re-enter the large gathering room, but Sheila caught his arm just above the elbow, pulling him back. Startled, he swung around to face her.
“The kid’s back,” she whispered, staring into his eyes. “The blond one who called Megan by name. Watch your step. He’s almost as volatile as Darcy.”
Amos nodded, inhaling deeply. “Thanks for the warning. We’d better not keep the Hoard . . . the Citizens waiting.”