Chapter 27 · Breaker Room Heat

"You think he protects a disgraced thief, Ruth?"

The transmitter wasn't bigger than a cough drop. Black electrical tape, one tiny red diode, Helen's voice buzzing through it like wire dragged across bare skin.

I didn't answer. You don't argue with batteries.

Across the hall, behind the child-gate, Willa sat with her knees pinned to her chest. Watching. Six years old, dark eyes, dead still. She knew that black pill. She knew the thumb that had stuck it to her gate hinge.

"Hey." I crouched. The tear in my flank pulled—that raw, chewing burn under the tape I'd been ignoring since Tuesday. "Grown-ups drop trash. That's all."

She didn't blink. She held up two fingers.

"Two minutes," I said. "Door stays locked. I'm right below you."

She pressed her palm to the gate. I pressed mine against the wood on my side. Three weeks in this fortress and she hadn't made a single sound, but she had me down to sign language.

I dug my nail under the tape, peeled the bug free, dropped it in my pocket, and took the service stairs two at a time.

The ground-floor hall smelled like lemon oil and harbor frost.