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There was something in his expression. Something I haven’t seen before.

Empathy.

He feels sorry for me.

The sympathetic notion scurried across his face for a split second, but it’s this little spark of compassion that kindles the flame of an idea inside my head.

This is it. The idea I have been waiting and hoping for.

I’ve been cautious and quiet, listening as he told the tale of his dead parents. I witnessed a moment of weakness, a sign that he was willing to be more than my intimidating captor. A sign that he was human. I took no advantage of the situation then, and I kept my lips sealed after I heard him talking on the phone.

But it wasn’t just simple fear that stopped me from turning from a passive victim into an active fighter. I didn’t say or do anything because I didn’t know how to proceed. I didn’t have that one basic premise that I needed to construct the perfect scheme.

But now? Now I do.

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