Ollie ran.
He didn't walk. He didn't trot.
He sprinted down the corridor like his hair was on fire and his survival depended on it.
Behind him, Lyka chased relentlessly, still holding that box, while screaming, "Why are you running?! Is it because you didn't like the gifts?! Are they not enough?!"
"It's not that!" Ollie wailed, nearly tripping over his own feet. "They're enough—I'm just not!"
"Then why—?!"
"BECAUSE I DON'T DESERVE THEM!"
He said it like a confession, like someone who had committed a crime.
Lyka picked up the pace.
Ollie, in full panic mode, had completely shut his eyes as if not seeing the problem would make it disappear. Which was why he didn't notice that he was headed straight toward the worst kind of obstacle: a man-shaped one.
BAM!
Ollie slammed right into someone tall, warm, and unreasonably solid.
Strong arms caught him before he could bounce off and roll down the stairs.
"Whoa," came a familiar voice. "Ollie?"
