Nada's Escape

8- Game-Changer.

To my utter surprise the ploy works. The warden swishes out the door and Finley carefully removes his hands from mine. I carefully move my foot out of the ideal below-the-belt kicking position.

"Step one of escape plan number..." Finley leaves me an opening that I can't refuse.

"Seventy-four," I say, deadpan on the outside, shocked on the inside.

"Seventy-four complete," he finishes, smiling contentedly at a spot behind me. I dubiously examine the seam where the tabletop meets the wall.

"Is this room bugged?" I hiss.

"I don't think so. Just watched." He replies as I roll my eyes. Of course it's watched, the domed security camera is as plain as day on the ceiling.

"Let me guess, step two of your wondrous plan involves me pledging to be your sweetheart, and a big fat Huntswoman bride someday and I'll walk out of Seven happy but vomiting my guts up." Without the wardens threatening to drag me out by my ears I let loose the snark.

"No actually. I have some interesting information for you. What you decide to do with it is up to you, but I want you to know that I mean to help you with the next escape plan. Even if I'm merely making sure no Huntsmen are out for nighttime walks along Seven's walls." I narrow my eyes suspiciously at his bicep.

"Why?" I demand. "Why on earth do you want to help me and why right now?" He slides his hand into his hair and keeps it there, half hiding his face from my view.

"I've recently met some people..." He starts carefully then changes his mind. "Look it doesn't matter. Just pretend to tie up your shoelace right now."

I lift my eyebrows, "I'm not wearing shoes."

"Trust me," he pleads and I dubiously bend around the head of the table wondering if some magic spell will give me a pair of sneakers right now. My feet are still bare and grimy but a slip of paper flutters down between them. All becomes clear. Finley is ten out of ten sneaky today. I snatch up the paper, hiding it in my fist.

"As you read that in your lap I am going to keep talking like we're still having a conversation." He says and I nod, ducking my head like I'm embarrassed. I unfold the little slip of paper, crammed with words in pencil.

Council is closing Seven in 12 days. Anyone who hasn't taken the pledge by then will be terminated. Termination = locked under the village forever. Jayne isn't rescued she's dead.

"I wrote that down before I swore not to tell anyone." Finley is still speaking but I'm only half listening. I have to read the note a second time. This is a treasure trove of information. Answers to questions that have plagued me for months and vital, hopeless details about what will befall us all if we're too late to escape. This isn't just stuff Finley wants to tell me; this is an olive branch. He really wants me to trust him.

"Is this true?" I ask, fixing my eyes on him. He meets my eyes solemnly.

"Every word, I'm sorry to say," he answers and breaks my gaze. I've seen enough though. He had a full second in which to enthral me but he didn't. So he might just be earnest this time.

"Riiight," I say, thinking aloud. "This changes things. Escape plan seventy-four is going to have to be a very fast one."

"I hope I can be of assistance with it. I have some people still to talk to but with any luck I'll have a plan for you tomorrow." I'm intrigued because if he's right this could be a game-changer. Finley has always been claiming to want to help me but never before tried to prove it. Based on the information contained in his note if he arrives tomorrow with a plan there's a possibility he could be useful. Even so, could I be forced to ally with a Huntsman?

"I'm certain you won't like it," he continues. "But I'm eighty percent sure it will work." Dark humour plucks at my heart strings along with a trace of awakening hope. The door behind me hisses open to show Mildrith's bulk. I know what she's here for.

"Good odds," I murmur to Finley as I make for the door, secret note now burning a hole in my pocket. "I was only sixty per cent sure I wouldn't die climbing that ladder." I wish, futilely, that I have another escape plan to rely on but Finley's is the only one cooking. I'm not at all comfortable with that thought.