Page 174 of Between Despair and Hope

“Where’d you learn to pick locks, Nor?”

She glared up at me before looking back down, shoving a pin into the mechanism and biting her lip in concentration.

“My mother taught me when I was little.”

“Your mother. Why?”

“Just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“My father,” she replied, offering no further explanation. She made a face as she pulled on the bottom lip of the drawer. Her nose crinkled, and the tip of her tongue darted out between her teeth. Her skin was lit by the small sliver of light the parted curtains allowed, the color reminding me of the wheat fields my family had grown, and the stubborn set of her jaw eased into relaxation as she pulled the drawer open on a sigh.

“No,” she breathed as we both stared down into an empty drawer. “He stored letters here. I know it. I know he did.”

“He must have taken them out before everything happened.”

“Then why lock it after?”

“Is there a false bottom?”

She leaned to the side to compare the depth of the outside of the drawer with what we could see. She tapped the bottom, but the sound it made yielded nothing. I moved to where she knelt and tugged at the drawer, intending to pull it out. When the bottom fell to the ground with a clatter but the drawer looked intact, it was clear I was right. The only thing that fell out was a small, wooden ball, nearly perfect in shape, and it rolled across the floor to rest against Nor’s knee. She stared at it for a moment before picking it up and palming it, her lips tilted down in a frown.

Worried someone might have heard, I hurried to put the drawer back together while Nor sat immobile on the ground. The clock tower chimed midday, and she shook her head with a start.

“Oh, skies, we have to go,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb over the wooden ball and staring as if in a daze.

“What is it?”

I slid the drawer back in, carefully maneuvering around the shocked woman on the ground.

“Nor,” I said, voice firm. “Get up.”

She complied, still staring at the ball.

“What the fuck? Give it to me,” I said, holding out my hand. She obeyed with reluctance, and I shoved it in my pocket. Hooking my arm in hers, I tugged her out of the room, doing a final scan to ensure we’d left it as we found it, and locked the door behind us. She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. I dragged her halfway down the corridor before peering back at her, and I found tears running down her cheeks.

“Nor, what is this?” I stopped, producing the ball in my hand. Resting a hand atop her head and worrying her bottom lip, she inhaled deeply.

“That was my father’s.”

I looked down, examining the toy. It was completely smoothed down from a combination of expert carving and time.

“The man your mother ran from?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“He must have known who your father was. Used it against your mother.”

“You think he threatened her? The Supreme was the only one who knew, I thought. I don’t even know. I was only six when he did this.” She gestured toward her shoulder, and I grimaced. I’d tried to forget her father was the one who did that to her, but, gods, at the age of six? Blood pounded in my ears, and my mouth went dry

“Do you think she would have done the things she did without being threatened?”

She tilted her head in thought right as I heard footsteps coming toward us from the end of the hallway. Though the corridor was dimly lit, I could see the whites of her eyes as they widened in panic. Grabbing my hand, she spoke in my mind, loud enough I winced.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” I whisper-shouted back at her.

---