Hiding the knife behind her back, Beth looked up at Leo as he entered the room. 

His eyes widened when he saw Beth. "What's going on here?"

"I..." She raked her mind for an explanation. What could be a plausible explanation for her sitting on the ground, surrounded by scattered cutlery? "I opened your wardrobe, and this silly thing fell out." The basket was right next to her foot. She kicked it, propelling it in his direction.

It stopped at his feet.

He frowned at it. "Sure." A strand of jet-black hair hung into his eye. He brushed it away, but it didn't make his face any more readable.

"Yeah, you've got a mess here..." She gazed at the room, tidy except for the eating utensils littering the ground. "In your wardrobe or cabinet, I mean." She tried to give him a grin, not sure if it worked.

"This wardrobe..." He pointed at it. "It's no business of yours." He navigated the cluttered ground and reached her side. "Come." He seized her by her arms and pulled her up, his grip hard.

As she rose, she held on to the knife and pushed it into the waistband at the back of her skirt, hiding it under the loose hem of her blouse.

He let go of her arms, picked up the basket, and collected the spilled objects from the ground. When he had finished, he went to the door beside the wardrobe, taking the basket with him. Before he left the room, he pointed at a chair beside the table. "Sit down there and wait. Don't touch a thing in here."

She considered rebellion, but then fatigue made her obey.

"Yes, master." She glowered at him, wondering if he'd hear the sarcasm in her voice.

He raised an eyebrow, then he nodded and left.

Sitting at the edge of the chair, she listened to the muffled voices from next door.

When Leo returned only moments later, he held a pitcher and a cup. "You must be thirsty." He poured water and placed the cup on the table next to her.

She tilted her head and pulled up one corner of her mouth.

Would he realize that drinking from a cup with your hands bound behind your back might be a challenge?

He sighed. "Get up and turn around."

She obliged, and he unbound her.

It was a relief to move her arms forward again. She rubbed her wrists. Their chafed skin was red from the rope.

She was about to thank him, but she was afraid that it would encourage him to get too friendly. So she reached for the drink instead. The water felt wonderful as it rinsed her dry gums and passed her throat.

Ignoring him watching her, she swallowed eagerly and had the cup empty in mere moments. She held it towards him.

He looked at it and raised his eyebrows.

Was there a hint of a crooked smile on his lips?

Swallowing her pride, she gave in. "Can I have another one... please?"

"Sure." He filled the cup from his pitcher once more.

She drank.

When she finished, he was still watching her. Any hint of a grin was gone now. There was just his dark-eyed, foreign stare. He looked younger here than out in the sun, in his mid-twenties, maybe. His white shirt with the frayed sleeves and collar clearly dated back to the age of tech. He must have taken off his black leather jacket in the room next door.

Was he getting ready to take her?

Involuntarily, her gaze went to his crotch, but there was nothing out of the ordinary visible beneath his faded jeans.

His eyes were still on her.

What was he waiting for?

Her hands balled into fists, she got up. "What are you staring at?" She wanted this to be over now and done with. "Do... your thing and let me go! Vent your manly needs."

Why couldn't these apes leave Burt and her alone? Why wouldn't they just die out here, end their senseless lives in squalor and poverty?

He snatched the cup from her hands and pointed at her. "Listen, girl! Don't order me around. Go on being a pain, I'll kick you out and send you back to Hammer. And let me tell you one thing." He took a step closer and placed the finger against her breastbone. "You wouldn't want that." He gave her a shove, which made her sit down on the chair once more.

"And now," he continued, "just shut your mouth. I only took you up here to get you away from Hammer. Out of pity... In an hour, I'll take you back. And until then, you'll sit here, nice and quiet. And you don't touch anything." He gestured at the wardrobe.

With that, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

She made a fist.

Out of pity, he had said.

She didn't need this caveman's pity.

And she would never obey him.

Fuming, she rose and moved to the door he had walked out through. She would let him know that she wasn't to be treated like that—not by the likes of him.

About to push the handle and storm the room beyond, the pressure of the knife hidden in her skirt stopped her.

She pulled it from her skirt. Just a table knife, its short blade lacked a proper point. But its edge was sharp enough to scratch her skin.

Not much of a weapon, but it was better than nothing. And it was a tool.

She turned and stepped to the other door, the one they had entered through. The one he had locked.

The blade slid easily into the small gap between the panel and its frame. She moved it up and down, searching for the latch. But there was no resistance.

The lock must be beyond reach.

Frustrated, she used the knife as a lever, titling it. It came free, splintering wood off the edge of the frame.

The knife's blade stood at an angle to the hilt now. But the door was still locked.

Cursing silently, she paced the room.

Still trapped.

She stopped at the bed and picked up the teddy bear. Its fur was rough and brittle, and its one-eyed stare reproachful. She tossed the toy back and peeked under the bed. Motes of dust danced in the air she had stirred up, and a black bug scuttled away.

She studied her surroundings once more. Bare and boring, they held nothing of interest.

The wardrobe.

He had told her not to touch it.

All the more reason to do it.

She searched its shelves once more, using her unbound arms to explore deeper, sifting through the clothes, odd toys, and broken machines. At the very back of the top shelf—standing on her toes—her fingers found a small box, the size of her fist.

Its surface was soft, stuffed, and covered by a shining red textile. She unloosened the tiny latch and snapped the lid open.

Two golden rings nested inside, held in a slit of black velvet.

Leo had been married. Hammer had mentioned it.

His wife had died, and they blamed Seaside for it.

Silently, she shut the box and put it back.

As she closed the wardrobe's doors, a wave of fatigue washed through her. She sat down at the table.

Its dark, wooden surface was scratched and pitted but scrubbed clean. She moved a finger along it, feeling its texture—roughed by the use of generations.

The gangers were brutes and primitives but still human.

And that's what made them dangerous.

Clenching her hand into a first, she took a deep breath.

She had to get out of here. Get to Burt, set him free, and run. Or they'd be used as hostages, to be traded for weapons. Weapons that would be turned against Seaside.

She couldn't let that happen.

For a while, she sat there, racking her brain for a way to escape, but she drew a blank.

The only insight she gained was that she was still thirsty, and Leo had a pitcher of water.

Sighing, she got up again and went to the door next to the wardrobe.

What was behind it? What would be so important to leave a prisoner without a proper guard? To ignore her?

She listened.

Someone talked on the other side. The voice sounded like Leo's, but it was too soft to decipher. And then came a reply, almost a whisper.

Curious, she placed her hand on the handle and pushed.