I proceeded directly to the storage quarters.
It was crowded with containers, aged furnishings, yuletide adornments from 1987, and a ruined running machine Scott pledged he would remedy “someday.”
In the back recess, I located precisely what I was seeking: four sturdy combination-security travel containers.
I headed straight to the storage room.
I had acquired them decades prior for a continental journey that never materialized because my previous spouse determined a watercraft constituted a superior allocation of funds.
Spoiler: the watercraft foundered.
But these travel containers?
Still immaculate.
I extracted them, cleansed them, and smirked.
“Time to pack a punch,” I murmured softly.
I climbed the stairs to Lydia’s unblemished sleeping quarters.
