Page 9 of The Shape of my Scar
Maro rarely spoke at all. His voice, when it came, was like the chill you’d get when someone was watching you and you couldn’t see them.
Sometimes Dorothy’s voice sounded like it was full of life as she read. Sometimes it was lighter than a breeze.
And then, like a tide turning, it would go flat. Or absent.
One night, she didn’t read at all.
She didn’t even come to the wall.
Thane heard the electronic number lock at her door beep after they had dumped her in the room. He could hear her stumbling around the room. She tripped over the mattress. Her limbs were loose, and her breath sounded like she had been running.
Thane whispered, “Dorothy?”
No answer.
Later that night, long after the drip of the shower had stopped, he heard her crying.
The sound filled the room like ice-cold water. Chills travelled down his spine at those eerie whimpers. It was like the sounds you hear in horror movies before bad things happened.
He pressed his face against the wall. He poked at the cardboard she had left to hide the hole. “Hey,” he whispered. “You don’t have to talk, but I’m here.”
Still nothing.
“It wasn’t your fault, you know. This is not your fault.”
He knew she didn’t believe him. But the whimpers stopped, and he could hear her breathing slow.
The other boys were silent, their faces angry.
“We will get them,” said Zel.
Chapter 5
Thane & Faolan
Two nights later, her voice became steady again, the quiet strength in it belying the bruises on her body.
Thane had snickered when she told him she would be readingA Hereditary Book on the Art of War.
He had stopped making fun when she told him her brother, Callum, liked reading it.
“To perceive that which cannot be seen with the eye is the secret of the warrior.”
There was silence for a moment before Thane said, “This is a bit boring, ya know. So basically…ninja training.”
A rustling sound from the far end of the room, and then Maro’s voice cut in, “No, idiot. It means knowing someone’s coming just by how the air feels.”
Faolan blinked, surprised. She hadn’t realized Maro was awake. Slowly, she had learned how each of them sounded. Maro’s voice always sounded like gravel crunching under a shoe.
Thane huffed, but didn’t argue. “You mean, if it’s a stinky guy like Ruben?”
“Same thing, kind of,” he muttered.
He didn’t know how, but he knew she was smiling.
Then she read again:
“When the enemy advances, remain still. When he hesitates, strike. In stillness, you prepare. In silence, you move.”
