Slipping in and out is easy now. The building is huge, with many emergency exits, not all of them watched by a guard at every moment. They are relying on the security system—alarms that would blare if the doors are opened without authorization, something my swiped cell phone has no trouble providing.
I crouch behind a hedge, waiting for the guard on this side of the building to move on. He’s been leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette and staring off into space—not doing a very good job at guarding, feeling as safe as houses. His chest is the size of a barrel, protected by a thick layer that makes me think of crabs and their barbed shells. I’ve seen him in the mess hall. He makes strange creaking sounds as he walks.
Through the leaves, I watch him take a deep drag, then flick the cigarette to the ground. He sighs, looking bored out of his mind, and resumes his patrol. As soon as he rounds the corner, I use my phone to trigger the lock at the nearest fire exit. As it clicks open, I leave my hiding place, run for the door and ease myself inside, then use my phone to activate the alarm once more.
The hall is dark, two of its overhead fluorescent lights have burned out, just the reason I picked this as my point of access. I sneak into a broom closet where I left my pajamas, put them on and ruffle my hair. Before leaving, I check the first floor security cameras through my phone.
I was gone for a little over an hour and it’s now 2 A.M. Nothing looks out of the ordinary until I check the cameras on my floor and spot someone walking down the hall away from the barracks—someone that moves with grace and stealth. Lyra.
I rush out of the closet and run down the hall. She must already know I’m not in bed and, if she’s looking for me, she’d better find me on our floor. Because, at night, the elevators and emergency exits are off limits, accessible only to those with security clearance.
As I near the staircase, I send an unlock command through my phone and rush in. Taking two and three steps at a time, I climb six flights of steps. My calves and thighs burn. When I reach my floor, I press my back against the wall and check the nearest cameras outside the stairs. My breaths echo against the concrete walls. My heart beats in my throat.
After making sure no one is outside, I ease the door open and step into the hall. Sweat glides down my forehead. I wipe it off with the hem of my shirt and begin walking at a careless pace. My legs itch to sprint back downstairs and out into the night, but this is the only place for me. I will either succeed or die trying.
As I pass an emergency box with a rolled up firehose inside, some strange feeling in my gut prompts me to stop. I open the small, glass door and, quickly, hide the phone inside. I’ve taken only a few steps away from the box when Lyra turns a corner into the hall.
Pretending not to see her, I shuffle forward, scratching my butt and doing my best to look like a zombie.
“What are you doing?” she booms.
I jump, looking surprised.
“Hey, Lyra, Lyra. Can’t sleep either?”
“Where did you come from?” she demands.
“Been walking around. I played some games. Wanna play?” I act all perky at the possibility of playing with someone else.
Lyra narrows her green eyes, shooting me a glare that feels like a laser beam. “I was down this hall already.” She takes my arm, twists me around and presses my face against the wall. After kicking my legs apart, she presses a hand to the nape of my neck, letting her sharp claws prick me.
“Whoa. Not a friend. Thought you were a friend,” I say in a half angry, half scared tone. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me.” Her hands move down my body, frisking me.
The emergency box sits only a few inches from my face. I make a point not to look in that direction.
Lyra takes me by the shoulders and whirls me around. “You are up to something. Where were you playing games? What games?”
I point down the hall, the way I came. “Room 614,” I say. It’s a small office with a computer which should at least have solitaire on it.
“Show me.” Lyra pushes me in that direction.
“Why are—?”
“Silence. Show me!”
“Sheesh, okay.”
When I reach the office’s closed door, I turn the knob, not knowing whether it will be locked or not. When it opens, I walk in the room and head confidently toward the desk. Lyra flicks the light on. I cover my eyes and groan.
“Were you in here with the light off?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s 2 A.M.” I yawn and fire off the computer. When the screen lights up, I sit and blink at the monitor. I type “solitaire” in the search box. Two games show up, plain Solitaire and Spider Solitaire. “Which one do you like?” I ask, opening the second one without waiting for a response.
I begin clicking and stacking cards on top of each other, acting as if Lyra has gone up in smoke. When she puts both furry hands on the desk and leans into me, I act startled and reluctantly look at her. I wait as she ponders what to say and seems to measure her words very carefully.
“Whatever you are doing, you will get caught sooner or later.” Her nose twitches. She’s mad which makes her accent more pronounced and causes later to come out as latair.
There are little dots on her cheeks, close to her mouth. I stare at them intently, pretending her words mean nothing to me, even as the echoes in my head ring loudly of the truth. She almost caught me tonight. I got lucky. I can’t risk leaving the building again—not until I find something that can help IgNiTe fight Elliot and his faction.
I lift a finger toward her cheek. “Are those whiskers?” I ask, looking as fascinated as a child poking an ant pile.
She slaps my hand away. “You better watch your back,” she says, then leaves the room without a backward glance.
I mechanically play solitaire for twenty minutes, her warning writhing in my mind like an angry snake. I need to get this done, before Lyra’s whiskers get too long and she sticks them too far into my milk bowl.