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Everyone froze. A young hostage, maybe eight years old, stood holding a juice box. She pointed at Denver’s pocket. “Your cracker fell out earlier. When you were doing push-ups to impress the lady with the eyepatch.”

Moscow, his father, grabbed his arm. “Son. Calm down. It’s a cracker.”

Moscow shook his head, chuckling. Tokyo just laughed. money heist denver

Tokyo watched from the doorway, smirking. “Denver, you’re going to wake the hostages.”

Just as Denver lunged, a small voice cut through. “Excuse me.” Everyone froze

“That wasn’t on the counter ,” Denver roared, pulling off his red jumpsuit’s zipper halfway. “That was my cracker. My late-night , nobody-else-is-awake, I-dip-it-in-Nairobi’s-leftover-honey cracker.”

“Apology accepted,” Denver grumbled. “But next time, ask. A man’s snack is his castle.” He handed the other half to the little girl. “And you… you’ve got eyes like a spy. You want a job when you’re older?” “Your cracker fell out earlier

“It’s the principle , Papá!” Denver shoved a chair aside. He grabbed a stapler like a weapon. “I’ll staple his eyebrows together!”