Cress

Chapter 38

            Cress held her breath and  listened—listened  so  hard it  as  giving her  a 
           headache—but all she heard was silence. Her  left  leg  was  beginning  to 
         cramp  from   being curled into such an awkward position, but she dared
        not move  for fear she  would bump   something and alert the old man to
        her location.
     She hadn't run from the home. Though  she'd    been   tempted,  she'd 
         known  that Jina and the others could still be  out  there, and running
       into  them  would put  her right back where she'd  started. Instead,  she'd
       ducked  into  the  third  room down the long slender  corridor,  surprised   to
        find  the  door unlocked   and the   room abandoned. It had the same setup
         as the doctor's  room: bed,  closet, desk,  but  to her chagrin   it   was   missing
         a netscreen.  If  she  hadn't  been  so  desperate   to  find  a hiding   spot, she
           would have wept.
                  She  ended  up  in  the  closet. It  was  empty, with a  bar   for   hanging 
             clothes  situated below a single shelf. Cress had used all  her  strength  to 
            clamber up   onto  the   shelf,  propelling  up  the closet's   side  walls  with
           both  feet, before  squeezing her way into the tiny  alcove. She'd   used   her
     toes  to  pull  the  door  shut. For  once, she was glad of her small size, and she
          figured  that   if he   found her  she'd    at least have the  leverage from
      being so high  up. She  wished  she  would have   thought  to grab some
           sort of weapon.

    But her hope was that there would be no need for  it. She   suspected  
              that  when he woke up, he would think she'd run out into  the town  and
             he  would  go  searching for her, which should give her ample  time  to  get
back  to  that netscreen  and contact Thorne at their last hotel.
     She had  lain  there  for hours, waiting  and  listening. Though   it  was 
         uncomfortable, it kind of reminded her of  sleeping beneath  the  bed   in   the
         satellite  during those long hours when  Luna could  be  seen   through  her 
         windows. She'd  always felt safe then, and the memory brought  a strange
        sense of protection, even now.
       After  a  while, she  began  to  wonder  whether she'd killed  the  man. The
        guilt that sparked in her chest made her angry. She had nothing to feel
          guilty about. She'd been defending herself, and he was a Lunar-trafficking
        monster.
   Not long after she'd had this  thought, she heard shuffling, so  quiet
     it  could have been a mouse in the walls. It   was   followed  by  a  couple  of 
     thumps  and  a groan. Her body seized up again, her right shoulder aching
     from the  way she was lying on it.
     This had been a mistake. She should have run when she'd had the  
      chance. Or she should have used the time that he was  unconscious  to  tap
            into  his netscreen.  In hindsight, she'd had plenty of time, but now it
           was  too  late and  he was  awake and he would find her and—
    She squeezed her eyes shut until white specks flickered in the darkness.
   Her plan had not failed yet.
      He could still go outside in  search  of  her. He  could still leave the building.
                  She waited.
     And waited.
    Breathing  in  and  breathing  out.  Filling  herself  with hot,  stifling  air.
     Her  pulse skipped  at  every  sound,  every  muffled scrape,  every  wooden
    thump,  trying  to create a picture  in her mind of what was happening in
    the  room  at the  end  of  the hall.
     He never left his room. He didn't come to look for her at all.
   She scowled into the darkness. A bead of seat lobbed its way off her
     nose.