Sins of the Flesh: Sinners & Saints, #4

By Rosalie Stanton

Someone ordered the apocalypse, and it's not who you'd expect.

With the world literally on the brink of annihilation, Invidia, the Sin of Envy, is tasked with finding the renegade Guardian responsible for opening one of the Seven Seals. The good news? Each of the Seven Seals needs to open to trigger Armageddon. The bad news? Two already have, and the mastermind behind the apocalypse remains untold steps ahead.

As a Guardian of the Seals, Roman has never explored the human world. He's never known the touch of a woman, either, until one seduces him into betraying his duties. Overwhelmed with guilt for succumbing to temptation, Roman sets out to stop the apocalypse, prepared to sacrifice everything for redemption.

He's not prepared, however, for Invi, who embodies the very definition of forbidden fruit.

When Invi encounters Roman, he's not what she expects. Aside from being ripped from the pages of her secret fantasies, he's more victim than villain. And when the other Seals start to open, she has no choice but to team up with the sexy Guardian to find the true culprit. That's the easy part. The real challenge is keeping her hands to herself.

Reader Advisory: This book contains scenes of violence.
This book was originally published as Sins of Yesterday in 2015
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Buffy meets Good Omens. A tale of devils, angels, demons, and everything in between. Product may include sacrilegious humor, irreverent beliefs and explicit, too-hot-for-prime-time adult scenes.

This series is best enjoyed when read in order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosalie Stanton
• Release date: Aug 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393323600

Rosalie Stanton

Rosalie Stanton is a multi-published erotic romance author, with emphasis in paranormal and urban fantasy. A lifelong enthusiast of larger than life characters, Rosalie enjoys building worlds filled with strong heroes and heroines of all backgrounds. Rosalie lives in Missouri with her husband. At an early age, she discovered a talent for creating worlds, which evolved into a love of words and storytelling. Rosalie graduated with a degree in English. As the granddaughter of an evangelical minister, Rosalie applied herself equally in school in the creative writing and religious studies departments, which had an interesting impact on her writing. When her attention is not engaged by writing or editing, she enjoys spending time with close friends and family. Rosalie is represented by Tish Beaty at the L. Perkins Agency.

Book preview

Prologue

Roman didn’t want for anything. This was how it was designed.

No one was to know of him, or the Seal, until Jehovah and Lucifer had decided the human experiment had come to an end. That was Roman’s purpose. His sole purpose. To guard, and eventually, to die at the Gates of Hell. For when the world ended, Roman would have nowhere to call home. This world, this humble stretch of ground, was all he had.

And Roman never would have questioned this, were it not for the dark woman. She who came from shadows, with ribbons of ebony hair and skin so white it nearly blinded. With her lips—her sweet lips—her hands, her body suggestively curved into his.

Fighting her had proven futile, for she’d returned. Always. And every time she did, the boundaries between them slipped a little more.

Guardians weren’t supposed to feel. He knew that. So did the dark woman.

They left you here, she’d whispered, her hand working his phallus as he pumped his hips in rhythm, desperate for more. They left you here, and forgot about you. They gave you life just so you could die. How’s that for fair?

It wasn’t. It wasn’t.

But you don’t have to die, baby. You can come with me and live. She’d licked the shell of his ear, her hand tightening around him. How long has baby waited…to live?

After he’d erupted, sticky ropes of white fluid emptying into her hand, the dark woman had brushed her soft lips against his cheek, wiped her palms on the cavern wall, then taken a step back.

The time is now, dear heart. You know what you must do if you want more.

More he did want. As much of more as he could get. But the Seal couldn’t be opened. Not without directive from his makers.

And yet…the second she’d touched him, the instant she’d curled her delicate fingers around his hardened shaft, the mission had become obsolete.

Roman blinked against the darkness. The cavern containing the Seal—his home, his purpose—had never looked so bleak. The amount of time he had spent here was unknown to him. A colorless mesh of years with a single objective.

As the days passed and the dark woman failed to return, the mission he’d dedicated himself to serving grew thin. He wanted more than her memory. He wanted more than the phantom tingles of the pleasure she’d given him. He wanted, and Guardians were not meant to want. Guardians were to be empty of desire, and he was far from empty.

The dark woman had shown him, hadn’t she? In order to be with her, there was only one option. The endless dark held no comfort now. He could not slip back into the being he had been. He was always waiting for her.

And she never came.

Roman studied the shadowed tunnel as long as he could, as time itself seemed to turn on its head. But the pathway would remain dark and unoccupied. He knew this. No amount of waiting or wishing would bring her back. There was one way. The only way.

So he turned his attention to the Seal, and made his choice.

1

Invi’s pocket buzzed. She heaved a sigh and pulled out her phone.

Ava.

Probably just another helpful tip, as her sister had put it. Ever since Invi had taken over the search for Roman, the wayward Guardian, Ava had inundated her with a slew of unwanted feedback that stemmed from where her own hunt had ended. Granted, Ava was currently stationed by a Seal in Paris, which couldn’t be fun, even with a yummy super vamp keeping her company.

That was more than Invi could say for the Seal’s Guardian, poor thing. Paris, so named for the Seal he protected, had been butchered by a gang of Hell Demons a couple weeks back, presumably because he’d refused to open said Seal. When the Hell Demons had realized that killing the Guardian wouldn’t get them closer to their goal of initiating Armageddon, they’d done something even more monumentally stupid—kidnapped a Virtue and tried to use her blood instead.

Suffice to say, Lucifer hadn’t been pleased. He’d sentenced each of them to a millennium in a collection box as punishment. Considering that the other punishment was locking them in a room with Ira, Invi figured the devil had been charitable.

And unfortunate though Paris’s fate was, at least he’d died honorably—protecting that with which he was charged to protect. The same couldn’t be said for the Guardian who had kicked off Heaven and Hell’s mad dash to save the world. Roman, the Guardian of Rome, had opened his Seal willingly, then skedaddled. And since his veins pumped Guardian blood, the other Seals remained at risk of being opened prematurely.

If all seven opened, the world would end.

Which was why it was essential that Invi find Roman before he was able to do even more damage. The Guardian was, at the moment, why she couldn’t have nice things.

Ava’s ringtone cycled for what Invi knew would be the last time. Though she was tempted to ignore it—Ava’s tips weren’t helpful, no matter what she thought—she just knew the one call she didn’t answer would be the one that changed the game. So with a sigh, Invi raised her phone to her ear. Yeah?

We lost the Seal in Paris. Ava made a sound that could have passed for either a disillusioned laugh or a sob. Dante’s been hurt, and we lost Paris.

Invi’s heart fell, her stomach twisting. What happened?

I honestly don’t know. It was chaotic. Four or five of them, and then everything went boom. Dante tried to stop it. Tried throwing himself on the Seal to close it.

Well, that certainly sounded like something the idiotic vampire would do, but Invi didn’t have the heart to snicker. Tell him not to do that.

I still don’t know what he was thinking, Ava muttered. "I don’t even know if he knows what he was thinking."

Invi knew. She’d seen it the night at Whytecliffe, when Ava had faced a sentence of two thousand years in a Hell Demon’s penalty box, and Dante had been condemned to having his memories of her erased. Dante had acted on sheer bravado, throwing himself into a fight he couldn’t possibly win, all to protect the woman he loved. Dante didn’t think before acting if Ava was on the line.

I hope he feels better, Invi said. The words felt weak on her tongue and sounded worse. What an obvious statement, but fuck, she didn’t know what else to say. What now? Have you talked to the boss?

Yeah. He…he wants everyone to stay where they are. Ava grew quiet for a moment. Then she asked, Any leads on Roman?

Nothing yet. I’ve circled back to New York. Three rounds, no nibbles. I’ll be here a couple days unless Lucifer gets a bead elsewhere.

Then where?

Back to Tokyo. Then Hong Kong, Jerusalem.

Lather, rinse, repeat, Ava murmured. No tips or advice were forthcoming—she must have been well and truly shaken. Keep an eye out. And be careful.

I will. Invi swallowed. And sorry.

Me too, she said, then hung up.

Invi slid her phone back into her pocket and forced herself to refocus on her surroundings. Surroundings that made her hate her job, which was a real shame, since she ordinarily loved New York. She just didn’t love the circumstances that had brought her here.

Invi huffed, blowing strands of blonde out of her face. The cadence of the city hummed beneath her skin, agitating her already frazzled nerves. As the crowds of people around her thinned and the noise in her head became less internally focused, it grew harder to guard herself against the thousands, millions of tiny blips of demonic energy that rattled through her body. Large concentrations of mid-level energy signatures typically resulted in one bastard of a headache, and though experience had given her the skills to combat the sensation, exhaustion and raw mental strain had her defenses at an all-time low.

It was time to call it a night. Invi had spent the better part of the day wandering through the city, popping in and out of various neighborhoods of varying reputation in the vain hope of encountering an energy signature worth following. After so many days with little sleep, she wasn’t sure if she was helping the cause at all.

Invi crossed her arms and turned a corner into a darkened alley, away from the lights and crowds. She needed some grub—real food, and not whatever processed garbage that street vendor had talked her into trying earlier. Running on fumes was not a good look on her.

She was tired of feeling helpless. Tired of not knowing what would come next. Tired of what her life had become. Two thousand years had given her plenty of experience in dealing with the unexpected; this brand of unexpected was unlike anything anyone, even Big J, had seen before.

Invi stifled a yawn and rubbed her arms.

Then stopped cold.

Something wasn’t right.

She stood still for a moment. The air around her head had changed, stuffed with enough otherworldly pressure to have her senses on high alert. Invi counted to five, then released a long sigh and dropped her hands. I know you’re there, she said, flexing her fingers. A small flame danced in her palm. Whoever you are, I promise you don’t wanna fuck with me.

A beat passed. Then another, and another. Nothing. Yet there was someone there—of that she had no doubt. Someone not human.

Someone…

She frowned.

Whoever was behind her gave off no energy signature.

What the hell… Invi whirled around, the flame in her palm flaring as though sensing an opportunity to burn. A small thrill raced down her spine and she found herself staring into the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.

What are you? she blurted, taking a step back. A shiver of fear—true, honest-to-fuck fear—squeezed her insides. Those eyes… Like fathomless black pits in a face that might be handsome—no, gorgeous—were it not twisted in a sneer. He was tall—god, so tall—with prominent cheekbones, soft-looking lips and a strong neck that led to strong shoulders, and everything only got better from there.

Holy fuck, she really needed to get laid if she was checking out a guy who probably wanted to kill her.

Invi swallowed and raised her palm so he could see, clearly, the flame dancing there. There wasn’t much that could permanently damage a Sin, as Lucifer had created his children to be rather indestructible. Yes, bleeding, scrapes, cuts and bruises were a part of the gig, but the majority of injuries healed in a matter of minutes. With very few exceptions, most revolving around pissing off the wrong deity, Invi had very little reason to worry about her safety. Though she wasn’t sure what exactly about this guy set her off, aside from the vacuum of nothing radiating from where his signature should be, some age-old survival instinct kicked in.

It didn’t help her confidence that Cassie had nearly kicked the bucket when those apocalypse-happy demons had kidnapped and bled her over the Seal in Paris. If a Virtue could be nearly bled to death, survey said the right sort of creature could do the same to her.

Invi did not plan on making herself an easy conquest. No matter how extremely fuckable her assassin was.

You see this? she asked, nodding at her outstretched hand. The flames in her palm flared in warning. Even better, her voice wasn’t shaking. Bonus. "This is gonna be crawling all over that pretty skin of yours unless you can answer me these questions three. Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you? And why the fuck don’t you come with any radar?"

A blink. That was how long it took the Playgirl centerfold before her to cover the space between them.

A gasp. That was how long she had before her throat was claimed by a large, masculine fist.

A flash. That was all she could register before her back met the unforgiving surface of the brick alley wall.

Well, this conversation wasn’t off to the best start.

Invi killed the urge to kick and claw. The pressure at her throat wasn’t exactly comfortable, but she’d endured and delivered worse. Instead, she met the steely eyes with a look she’d been told could make an ice cube shiver.

Not a smart move, asshole, she said.

She thrust her palm flame-first at his chest, and almost immediately fell to the filthy alley ground as her new friend decided it was better to deal with a live flame than hold a virtual stranger hostage.

Invi dusted herself off, biting back a groan as she climbed to her feet. A layer of unidentifiable muck clung to her jeans, and substances best left to the imagination painted a disturbing canvass on what had been a good jacket. She wrinkled her nose, then turned her attention to her attacker.

Her obnoxiously taciturn attacker.

For a man consumed in flames, he seemed not the least bit bothered by his predicament. He didn’t scream. He didn’t even whimper. The string of fire had spread up his arms and across those amazingly broad shoulders and he barely flinched. If anything, he looked…intrigued. Maybe surprised, if she squinted.

He slowly lifted his head and met her eyes. Then the flames which should have been burning his skin raw—or at the very least giving him one hell of a sunburn—simply vanished. As though he had absorbed them.

And she knew.

Roman, Invi said, stepping forward. Her chest tightened with awareness, her body growing tense. She flexed her fingers, overwhelmed. This was the guy. The asshole responsible for opening the Seal, for endangering the Earth, and in a roundabout way, for putting Fugie in the ground.

At once she wanted to see him in pain, and lots of it.

Then he surprised her. Those lips she’d admired just seconds ago—lips she now wanted to rip off—parted.

What manner of creature are you?

His voice was deep and rich, boasting an accent she’d never heard and couldn’t place. It shot all sorts of feel-good vibrations into her skin and to her bones, and she hated herself for reacting. For enjoying the sound, the pleasant way his mouth moved as he formed words. For liking anything about him at all.

Goddammit, why did that heavenly voice have to belong to this asshole?

The kind that’s gonna skin you alive, she replied, her brow knitting.

You are no demon. He spoke as if she hadn’t, his face pulled and contemplative. Nor an angel. Your power is unlike any I have encountered.

You wanna feel my power?

You would be wasting your time. Roman tilted his head and studied her. You know me. My name. How?

’Cause I’m the one who’s gonna lasso you in, boy, she replied, narrowing her eyes to slits, lifting her hand again. You have any idea how big a pain in the ass you are? We’re gonna go meet your maker. Or makers. Both of them.

Roman dropped his gaze to her open palm. That didn’t work the last time.

If at first you don’t succeed, blah blah blah.

You have the most unusual manner of speech.

And you’re about to be minus one tongue. You gonna come willingly or do I get to rough you up first?

He had the audacity to look amused. At least she thought he was amused. It was hard to tell in the dark.

Where do you intend to take me? he asked.

Invi cocked an eyebrow. Haven’t you heard? You’re a wanted man.

And, now that she noticed, a filthy one to boot. Those shoulders that wouldn’t quit were encased in a dark T-shirt, but the shirt itself had seen better days. A series of holes were freckled along the middle, accented with splotches of dirt or blood. True, that could be her doing, and maybe some of it was. A few threads were singed from the flame she’d thrown at him, but he’d swallowed it before it could spread and do too much damage. His jeans looked better suited to New York’s homeless. How she had missed the levels of grime caking his otherwise perfect physique was beyond her.

Perhaps she had been ogling too much, and that was bad enough as it was.

Wanted, Roman echoed. It wasn’t a question. I do not understand.

You don’t remember opening the Seal of Rome?

The confusion on his face hardened into something cold. What do you know of the Seal?

Other than you opened it, let a bunch of demons loose, decided one Seal wasn’t enough and got my friend killed? Just that your ass is grass.

For a moment, she could imagine she saw something like remorse flash behind those cold eyes. I am sorry for your friend, he said. His voice had dropped, and were the circumstances any different, she might imagine he meant it. I did not intend for anyone to get hurt.

Invi snorted. Ending the world typically comes with casualties.

He studied her for a moment. "You do mean to prevent this, then. The apocalypse."

Umm, yes, she agreed, keeping her tone purposefully light. His apology had thrown her off. Well, it wasn’t necessarily an apology, but the words had sounded sincere, and though that shouldn’t matter to her, it did. Fugie had meant more to her—to all of them—than could be expressed in just a few words. Yet there was something in the way Roman spoke that resonated volumes. And suddenly, she didn’t know what to think. Especially hard to do when wayward Guardians decide to take the fate of all existence into their own hands.

He looked at her for a long moment, then took a step forward, his movements less confident now, his expression less severe. He had several inches on her, though that wasn’t saying much as Invi wasn’t the tallest kid in class. Still, Roman easily dwarfed her brothers in height. Perhaps even the devil himself.

But Lucifer didn’t need great height to be the tallest person in the room.

We want the same thing, then, Roman said. To save this world.

She wet her lips and looked back to her new Guardian. You don’t want the Seals to open.

He shook his head, just once.

But you opened the Seal in Rome. And you tried to gut my brother’s girlfriend in Paris.

At that, he frowned, and a rush of doubt washed through Invi’s body. She’d thought it had been him—and though no one had said as much, she figured this assumption was universal. Cassie had been kidnapped, strung up and bled over the Seal in Paris, and very few beings had the power to make a cut like that. Roman had been her number one suspect.

After a moment, he spoke. I know not of what you speak.

Call her crazy, she believed him. I’m not the one you gotta convince. And even so, what happened in Rome—

I wish to undo the damage.

You didn’t do it willingly?

His expression went slack. I do not wish to answer this.

Well, tough titties.

Protecting the Seals is my one purpose. I will stop the dark woman.

Not if Lucifer decides to throw you in a cage and lose the key. You have no idea how much shit you’ve caused.

Lucifer is not my master, Roman said. I only serve the Seals.

Well, bearing in mind how well that turned out, we’ll consider ourselves fortunate. Invi rolled her eyes and snatched his wrist. On the count of three, jolly green. One…two…

You truly speak in manners I do not understand.

Probably because he had spent the better part of eternity with himself as company. Invi didn’t want to focus too much on this, though, as it would make her feel for him. That sort of solitude could do a number on anyone… Even someone whose sole purpose was to shoulder the responsibility.

So she shook her head and shoved the thought aside. Three, she said, and the alley around them vanished.

2

She wasn’t like the dark woman.

The thought was meant to be reassuring, yet Roman’s nerves remained strained. He didn’t know what to make of her—this slip of a girl who looked so completely fragile he wondered if she would break under the weight of a stare. Yet she didn’t carry herself as one for whom strength was a concern, and she certainly hadn’t pulled any stops in the blast she’d leveled at his chest.

She wasn’t fearful from what he could tell, and he didn’t know if that was a good thing. Guardians were meant to be feared. Their power was untried but unrivaled. They were meant to ward off gods if need be. They were the world’s oldest failsafe.

The dark woman hadn’t feared him either.

Where have you brought me? he demanded, tugging his hand free from hers. What is this place?

Crowne Plaza, the woman responded. I always travel in style.

Roman blinked eyes far too accustomed to darkened landscapes and subterranean walls. The blazing lights and relentless noise of the metropolis outside had been harsh enough on his senses, but this cramped room with its white walls, electric torches and outrageously large bed was even more offensive. The mere weeks that had passed since he’d last stood at his post could not undo thousands of years of hard conditioning. The world had transformed into something beyond imagination.

The light, though, provided insights darkened skies could not. He had not gotten the best view of this woman before, just enough to know she was not like the other one. The other woman, the dark woman, was tall, her hair ribbons of black, her lips ruby red, her eyes full of promise.

This woman was short. Everything about her was short. She barely grazed his shoulder in height, and her gold hair curled daintily along her chin. Her nose was also small, whereas the dark woman’s had been elegantly long and narrow. Her body had curve to it. Curve Roman wouldn’t have noticed before the dark woman. Curve his own body couldn’t help but notice now.

I thought you were taking me to see the Hell God, Roman said, gathering his bearings.

Yes, the small woman agreed. I am. I’ll call upon him while you’re in the shower.

Another foreign word. Roman frowned. Shower?

The small woman blinked. Yeah, she said, pointing over his shoulder. Just follow that door on the left.

I am not familiar with this term.

What term? Left?

Shower.

She stared at him for an uncomfortably long moment, then shook her head. Her nose scrunched up in a way he tried not to notice, as the effect caused her pleasant face to contort in a manner not unpleasant at all. Rather, somewhat…cute.

Something stirred in his gut—something he would rather not explore.

You know, the girl said, "washing off? You can’t tell me you’ve gone centuries without bathing. You’d smell way worse than you do now."

I smell?

I didn’t notice it so much in the alley, but… She bit her lip, looking a bit sheepish. And still…cute.

He didn’t want to notice her. She was a means to an end—the key to putting him on path to undoing the damage he’d done. His kind wasn’t meant for this world, or any world, which was likely why everything had made more sense when he’d been below.

This world, with its noise, its pollution and its people, violated his senses to the point where he couldn’t identify them any longer.

I have bathed, he found himself saying. It was true. Once he’d stepped out of the shadows and onto the sun-kissed earth, he had noticed how filthy his hands were. How dirt and soot seemed to claim every inch of skin. Indeed, he hadn’t known the true pigment of his flesh until he’d washed, but that had been days ago.

Was bathing something done often above ground? Neither of the gods had introduced the concept to him, and the dark woman hadn’t seemed to care so long as she got her way.

Well, the smaller, lighter woman said, moving forward, you’re gonna do it again. This time in a shower. Scoot.

And you will contact Lucifer.

She nodded. Yes, doing so now, o’ Tall, Dark and Smelly.

Roman frowned. The term didn’t sound endearing, though he supposed it didn’t matter. He wasn’t here to be endearing.

Still, the small woman had shown him what he believed to be kindness, and she hadn’t yet attempted to use him. She was also the only person—aside from the dark woman—who had shared words with him, even if those words didn’t make sense. If she were to help him reclaim his honor, he would be in her debt.

What am I to call you?

What? She seemed caught off guard.

Do you have a title?

A moment passed—an unnerving moment. The light woman stared at him for what seemed like an eternity before her features softened in ways he was better not to notice.

Invidia, she said.

Invidia, he repeated slowly, rolling over the syllables. The name touched the air in an agreeable manner, made the hairs on his arms stand at attention. Invidia.

Invi for short, Invidia said. If that’s easier.

I prefer Invidia. And he did, though he couldn’t say why. Names weren’t of any consequence to him. He was not a creature for whom attachments were made. The world he knew was quiet, dark, and solitary. His voice rarely used, and never for anything but to break the silence.

Yet he liked the name, and he liked the face attached to it.

Both dangerous things, as he had discovered. He had been here before. He couldn’t afford to return.

Whatever floats your boat, Invidia said, shrugging. She raked her gaze down his form, causing him to straighten his shoulders. As though what she saw mattered at all. But you might wash up before the boss man gets here.

Roman tightened his mouth into a line and offered a curt nod before turning on his heels.

Better to put some distance between himself and the woman, anyway. He couldn’t afford to become connected.

Guardians weren’t made for earthly things. That was one lesson he would not have to learn a second time.

Invi couldn’t imagine a world without showers. Even when bathing had been seen as a weekly chore rather than a daily part of normal hygiene to the human population, she had made a good soak in the tub priority Numero Uno. Granted, and to be fair, washing off in Hell was more of a necessity than anything else. Her neighborhood might be in the ritzier part of the underworld, but fire and brimstone had a way of getting into everything.

Yet this Guardian, Roman, had looked at her like she was off her rocker for suggesting a shower. While it didn’t take a genius to see why, she still found herself a little baffled at the prospect that a Guardian of the Seals wouldn’t bathe.

But that was her worldview talking. Her worldview, which was in and of the actual worlds, and not limited to standing in one place for all eternity until one or both of the deities dropped by to announce the impending apocalypse. When one only had oneself for company, and no knowledge or use for earthly conventions, she supposed things like bathing, sitting, sleeping, eating, drinking and fucking weren’t of note.

Put in those terms, being a Guardian had to suck.

Invi pulled a face and shook her head. She didn’t need to pity the asshole. Regardless of what his existence had been—boring as hell, most likely—he had drastically gone off script, and his rebellion had cost not only Fugie his life, but released thousands of Hell Demons into a world not prepared for them. If what Ava had said was true, and the Seal in Paris had opened, things were about to get worse before they got better.

The fact that the man didn’t know what a shower was shouldn’t make a bit of difference.

She exhaled deeply, shook the thought away, then yelled, Pixley!

The air shimmered and cracked, and the next second, the curator stood before her. As usual, Pixley was dressed like a lady of the night. Tonight, she wore a super-short leather skirt, thigh-high hooker boots, fishnet stockings and a red bustier. The Registration, which usually floated behind her head, updating Hell’s guest list as souls were admitted, was instead open and in her arms, the quill perched between her fingers.

Invi arched an eyebrow. Old-schooling it? The curator, to her knowledge, hadn’t handwritten a name in the Registration in generations.

I don’t think it is wise to keep it unguarded in such times, do you? Pixley asked, her eyes darkening a fraction. What need to you have of me?

Invi nodded to the closed bathroom. "Someone ordered a Guardian. This one’s ready to be