Like most things in life, Ropati vaguely guesstimated Mr. Brennan’s weight soaking wet. Halved, then halved again (because how much could a thing that size weigh?) his estimate of the fellow’s luggage, and held one lone hand out to take it.

Ropati sunk, arm first, like a rock. The bag hit the stairs, and Ropati banged his other elbow on the railing. His glasses slid down, and he pushed them back up hastily with his forearm.

He blinked, raised his brows, then straightened his back once more. Cast the bag a look as though to say, ‘well played, bag,’ and used both hands to heft it.

“Tough bag,” Ropati said, looking a bit sheepish himself.

He would have expected a thing like this to rip under the weight.

“Thank you.”

When they stepped in, someone was standing there, staring back … holding a strongbox underarm.