It’s amazing what a little adrenaline can do. I beat my own personal record for the twenty-yard dash, reaching one of the stacks of boxes and ducking behind it a split second before I heard voices coming from the far end of the warehouse.

“—talk,” said Margaret, her irritation clear even at a distance. “She simply won’t. We don’t work that way.”

“You must stop regarding this woman as a member of your family,” said Robert. “Her limits are not the same as yours.”

“She’s held up fairly well so far,” said Margaret sourly. “Who’s to say she won’t hold out until we get her back to England?”

“If she does that, she’s not our problem anymore. I know you want to be the one who breaks her, but what matters is that she’s broken, not who does it.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. I know what’s at stake here.” They were getting closer. I pressed deeper into the shadows behind my concealing wall of boxes, trying to assess my options in the rapidly decreasing time I had available. The bathrobe was white, or mostly; the front was more bloodstained than it had been when they first put it on me. It would show up against the gloom like a beacon. Grimly, I untied the belt and slipped the terrycloth off my shoulders. Naked may not provide much protection from the elements, but a bathrobe never stopped a bullet. I needed to disappear more than I needed to preserve my feeble sense of modesty.

“Do you really?”

I tied Peter’s shoelaces hastily around the hilt of his knife, creating a makeshift cord that would hopefully keep me from going unarmed. I needed both my hands free. I also needed the knife. This was the best compromise I could come up with on short notice. Once I was reasonably sure the knots would hold, I wrapped the cord around my right arm, using it to secure the knife to my bicep. The knots held.

“Of course I—” Margaret’s voice cut off mid-sentence, followed by a shout that was half-wordless exclamation, half-profanity. I heard her running toward the false room. Only one set of footsteps; Robert wasn’t moving, and until he moved, neither was I.

“So we lost you already, did we? Clever little thing. I’ll have to arrange for additional containment measures when we get you back. And we will get you back, Verity Price. You can be certain of that.” He spoke like he knew that I could hear him—and maybe he did. If there was only one way into the warehouse, he’d have noticed me going by. That meant I had to be in the main room, somewhere.

That didn’t mean I had to make things easy for him. I slipped farther back behind the wall of boxes, hooked my fingers onto the first available handhold, and started climbing.

Most humans think flatly. It’s not a criticism: humanity evolved when monkeys left the trees, and—as a whole—we haven’t been all that eager to go back. Most people rarely look much higher than their own line of sight. More importantly, most people stop climbing when they get out of elementary school. Robert might expect me to seek higher ground, but he wouldn’t expect me to do it silently—and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from years of free running, it’s how to ascend without making any noise.

I stopped once I was ten feet off the ground, moving sideways until I found a cleft between two boxes that I could wedge myself into without making myself visible. And then I waited.

It wasn’t a long wait. “She’s gone!” shouted Margaret.

“I gathered as much,” said Robert. His voice was closer now. I didn’t move. “What happened?”

“I can’t be sure—Peter’s out cold—but it looks like she somehow convinced him to unchain her, and then walloped the holy hell out of him.”

“She improvises well. We’ll have to remember that.” Robert stepped suddenly around the edge of the wall of boxes, visible from my current position only as a flicker of motion in my peripheral vision. I froze in my hidey-hole, trying not to breathe. “Her robe’s here.”

“She left her robe?” Margaret sounded incredulous. “What good did she expect that to do her?”

“It’s white. White would stand out in here. It was the right choice, assuming she’s not worried about running around naked.” Robert raised his voice, calling, “You can come out. We understand why you ran away, and we’re not angry, but there’s no way you’re getting out of here. You may as well make things easy on yourself, and stop hiding before we come looking for you.”

Biting back the snarky replies took an almost physical effort. I succeeded. The pounding ache in my feet helped. If they’d done this to me when they weren’t angry, what would they do if they got me back?

Robert sighed audibly. “It’s going to be like that, is it?” He started walking away, presumably moving toward the boxes along the next wall. “You know, I’d really hoped that we were making progress, Verity. I know we’ll never be friends, but I wanted you to know that we respect your willpower.”

I held perfectly still as I began counting down silently from ten. Sure enough, I had just reached four when a flicker of motion betrayed Margaret creeping cat-silent into the narrow space between the boxes and the wall. She was looking for me, and so I did the one thing that I could do: I didn’t move. Without my bathrobe and in this degree of shadow, my hair and skin would look like they were all one color. I just hoped that it would be the color of the box that I was huddling against. I could climb—climbing was mostly a matter of digging in with my toes and forcing my way past the pain—but I wasn’t going to place bets on my being able to run any time soon.

“Where is she?!” Peter’s voice blasted into the warehouse, loud and sudden enough that I nearly flinched. I managed to restrain myself, the large muscles in my thighs jumping frantically as I struggled not to panic. “Where’s that little Healy bitch? I’ll strangle her with my bare hands!”

“Your interest in doing things with your bare hands is how we lost her in the first place,” snapped Robert. His voice was a whip crack in the quiet of the warehouse. Margaret was still creeping along, moving like she thought there was no chance I’d have seen her. I pressed myself deeper into the crevice, barely allowing myself to breathe as I watched Margaret inch her way along.

In the movies, this would be where I inevitably had to sneeze, triggering an exciting chase scene. In the movies, I wouldn’t be stark-ass naked, and I’d have a machine gun or something, not a single stolen knife. I didn’t sneeze, and below me, Margaret moved on by, still searching for my hiding space. When she looked up, the shadows—faithful to the last—made me look like just another part of the wall. God bless the limitations of the human eye.