Sophia Mahoney
The icy cold hand of fear knows no bounds. Terror, fright, trepidation, words that emulate the feeling of scary nightmares now blow through her thoughts.
"We can smell you," one of the men calls out. "Come out. Come out wherever you are."
Their laughter fills the surrounding space, making her heart race faster.
She kneels with her back pressed against a leg of the workbench. A caged sensation washes over her. Trapped in a room with nowhere left to run or hide has never been on her top ten bucket list of things to experience.
A strong mixture of archival glue, honey-scented leather conditioner, renaissance wax and a potent leather consolidate, filling the room.
With luck, she thinks, it will mask my smell. A frown tugs her lips down. What the f**k am I thinking? They're
