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I twist around and find myself face to face with Gedeon. “Goddammit, Ged! You were sleeping! I heard you snoring.”
“You heard what I wanted you to hear.”
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew.” He rolls his eyes. “Gotta say, this was your best attempt yet. I only caught on a few hours ago.”
I sag against the car, but Nina is twisting towards Gedeon, holding her chubby hands out for him. “What gave me away? I want to know how to improve for next time.”
“Or we could skip the ‘next time.’ You could give up the plotting and pick up a hobby—maybe crocheting or meditation. Something quiet that would allow me a full night’s sleep.” His voice isn’t unkind, which is remarkable, all things considered.
I flip him off, which is my middle-of-the-night way of saying,I’d rather die and take you with me than accept this prison.
He sighs and reaches for the duffel. “Let me carry that for you.”
I do the only thing I can do: relent.
We’re halfway back to the building when he peeks over his shoulder at me. “Nice outfit, by the way.”
“Shut up.”
“No, seriously. I like the whole Catwoman thing you’ve got going. Suits you. Very menacing.”
When we get back upstairs, I deposit Nina in her playpen and drift aimlessly into the kitchen. “Cup of tea?”
It’s become something of a ritual with us. After an escape attempt, Gedeon and I sit in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating snacks.
He yawns as I push a cup of Earl Grey towards him. “Gingersnaps or oatmeal cookies?”
“A couple of each, please. Being up all night makes me hungry. Could you not schedule your escape attempts for a more convenient time?”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He groans. “You were supposed to say, ‘What escape attempts? I’m going to start whittling.’”
The only thing I’ll be whittling is a spoon into a shiv.
“If you think I’m just gonna sit back and accept my jail sentence,” I answer, “you’ve got another thing coming.”
“Things are crazy back home. At least you and Nina aren’t in the thick of it.”
I hold up my hand. “I’ve heard this all before, Gedeon. I’m not interested.”
“You know what? Fine,” he mutters. “I’m sick of spouting the same old shit all the time, too. You’re right: this sucks.”
“I’m glad we agree.”
“The window in my room leaks when it rains,” he continues. “And the coffee in this town might as well be horse piss.”
“The bakeries aren’t much better.”
“Oh, don’t even get me started on the bakeries. Why in the hell is it so hard to make some decent sourdough?” he grumbles. “Also, there’s nowhere to run where I’m not at risk of being flattened by a semi.”
“The trails suck,” I agree.
“This town sucks!”
“Arsen sucks!” I add.
