Nada's Escape

15- Watcher.

I can't help glancing to the metal grate that cuts off the head of the hall. Behind its gate still lurks the blonde boy-warrior, his eyes following the proceedings with enough interest to make my skin crawl. On this side of the grate I feel trapped by his gaze, like a bug in a glass jar. No other Huntsmen has ever just stood there like this. But this is the third day he has swaggered in to observe.

When he comes, he waits until the sunlight stops playing light on his hair before pursing his lips and stalking out. It has been an uncomfortable development in our imprisonment. I had hoped that after a week without seeing him the haughty Darcell was finally leaving us alone.

I do my best to ignore him. Only snatching glances in passing to ascertain he's still there as I go about the morning's work. The itching sensation of being watched is worse today and I can't tell if it's because that gaze is fixed solely on me or if I'm just extra skittish with all the new secrets. Watcher or not, I decide I've been making life too easy for the wardens lately and I signal the three musketeers to help me in one of our commonest pranks.

But I'm distracted. The sight of the newly stacked sleeping mats careening for the dining tables doesn't incite any satisfaction, though the girls on either side whoop in triumph. The crash and the destruction is epic enough for Macie to be glaring at me from across the hall but not near enough for me. So I haul up the last mat and stalk through the hall, using it like an enormous floppy baseball bat to take out the last remaining table. The faces of the supervising wardens turn furious and this finally makes me grin. They begin to run for me.

I brace myself, the mattress now a shield between us. At the last second I duck and spring forwards. The hard knee of one of them collides with my head through the mattress, making the crown of my head ring with pain. I sprawl across the concrete, pain flaring along my forearms, half under the mat. But the wardens too are sprawled and much more tangled up than me. I start to slither out from the mat but familiar arms haul me out. Then I am face to face with Amy, matching her wild grin.

"I know where to hide," she gasps and doesn't wait. I sprint after her, battering the main doors open a little wider in her wake, laughing at the wickedness of it. She barges right into the door of the school room, luckily unlocked, and I follow. We throw ourselves under the desks, laughter and breathing all mixed up in a happy moment of freedom. I roll on my side to watch my brilliant, scary friend. Hide in the school room? I would not have thought of hiding in a place I usually avoided.

A very pointed cough breaks my attention. The teacher's leather sandals are visible behind Amy's head. I scramble backwards and stand on the other side of the table.

"I guess it's school time then," he says cocking one eyebrow up into his hairless forehead. I lean casually against the desk behind me.

"I guess so." I reply, smug now that he hasn't called the wardens on us. Amy rises beside me and pulls out a chair.

"Yes. Tell us something interesting," Amy says. "Something the wardens wouldn't want us to know." I pull out a chair beside Amy and sit backwards on it, leaning my elbows on the table in front. I add the force of my stare to Amy's words. The teacher doesn't answer, just sweeps away from us, quickly shutting the windows.

"Alright," he says but his eyes don't match the confirmation. His gaze is still weighing each of us, making sure of something. "I can tell the horrible story of how the Huntsmen started kidnapping girls for Seven."

I am worried he'll decide not to tell us anything so I reign back any snarky comments that come to mind.

Amy can't help herself though and snorts, "We already know; you're all messed up in the head."

His eyes light up at that, with amusement or anger I don't know. He tips his head up and laughs dryly. "Well it wasn't always that way."

He still studies us both and something inside me whispers don't flinch. When he leans down to the table I know he has decided we can be trusted with whatever tale he's about to spin.