Page 29 of The Darkest Half

Umm, well, I’m not sure exactly. I was asleep when I heard it, and I can’t recall what it sounded like; all I know is that I heard something.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Just be quiet.”

He stands there silent but not perfectly still; his body sways a little in the moonlight, probably both from the abrupt awakening and the dehydration.

After a couple of minutes, there is no sound other than our breathing.

Niklas, looking uncomfortable, sits back down on the floor, stretching one leg out, and drawing the other knee upward. He drops both hands between his legs, shoulders hunched. “I think you’re starting to lose it,” he says, resting his back against the wall.

“Probably,” I agree, thinking about roosters again. “Maybe it was a dream.”

Giving up, I lay back down and stare upward at the ceiling. Niklas closes his eyes and drops his head a little, ready to drift off again.

But then I hear the noise again—a tiny beep, so faint I have no idea how I ever heard it while I was sleeping.

Niklas’ eyes open, and he raises his head. He looks right at me. “I heard it,” he whispers, and we start looking around the room.

A slight grating sound and another beep, and our heads shoot up simultaneously toward the ceiling.

“Holy shit…” I try but can’t get the rest out.

In one section of the ceiling, the size and shape of a typical ceiling tile breaks away from the rest, and a surveillance screen appears in its place. The screen pops on, and the room is bathed in dim gray-white light.

I sense that Niklas and I want to look at each other to share our surprise, but neither can tear our eyes away from the sight before us. Not only is it the first sign of life outside our four-wall prison since the footsteps that disappeared days ago, but it is movement. It is change. And I feel like I never want to take such necessities for granted ever again.

My heart pounds feverishly behind my ribs and in my ears, fearful and eager, as I stare at the screen, waiting for whatever it’s about to reveal.

I see a room much bigger than our prison in full color, with office furniture and paintings on the wall. There’s a window—the screen changes. A long, empty hallway. The screen changes again. Another long, empty hallway with a water fountain at the end. Next, a stairwell with a fire extinguisher and a small utility closet door. And a blond-haired ponytail swishing against the back of a woman who looks like she just went shopping for clothes at the local mall.

“Is that—”

“Nora Kessler,” Niklas finishes for me. “I can recognize that ass anywhere.” He laughs, relieved. “I never thought I’d be so glad to see her.” He stands up now, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. I realize I’m already standing, unable to recall when I’d ever moved from my spot on the floor.

“Who is that with her?” I try to peer in closer, but it’s impossible to do when the screen is on the ceiling, too high for us to reach, and with my head tilted backward uncomfortably on my neck.

“Osiris and Hestia Stone,” Niklas answers.

“OK, that’s odd,” I point out. “But who cares? They’re here for us, surely—I don’t care who she brings along with her.”

The screen changes again when Nora opens the stairwell door and enters a hallway. All the cameras are mounted on the ceiling, so the only viewpoint we have are the tops of their heads. And there is sound, at least; I can hear their shoes moving across the tiled floor and their slightly heavy breathing.

“She’s looking upward at the ceiling,” I whisper, “but she doesn’t hesitate to move.”

“That means she can’t see the cameras,” Niklas says.

“Just like we can’t see the one in here,” I point out and glance around the room briefly.

“Yeah, this place is high-tech without looking like it,” he adds.

I point at the screen. “There aren’t even guards in the hallways. Not one.”

“Because they don’t need them,” he says.

“That makes me incredibly nervous, Nik.”

“You’re not the only one.”

The slight sense of relief Niklas seemed to have upon first seeing Nora appears to drain from his eyes. It leaves me, too, replaced by a tense twisting in the pit of my stomach.

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