I watch him shuffle down the hallway.
I turn back to the mantel, picking up the next framed photo. It’s of Luna and Falkor on their wedding day, both of them so young and full of joy. My chest tightens at the sight of it.
I’m carefully dusting the frame when I hear the front door burst open and slam shut.
“Grim!” Falkor’s voice is urgent, panicked. “Wren! Grim!”
My heart starts racing. I almost drop the picture frame. I suck in a deep breath before placing it back on the mantel. I rush over to see what’s going on.
Falkor is standing just inside the closed door, his face flushed and his eyes wide with fear.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
“Draig Security,” he gasps, slightly out of breath. “They’re on the street. Going door to door. I think… I think they’re searching homes.”
Ice floods my veins. “How long do we have?”
“Maybe five or ten minutes at the most. They’re three houses down.”
Grim appears behind me; his expression is hard. “We need to move. Now.”
“Wait.” Falkor holds up a hand. “I have somewhere you can hide. They will see you if you try to leave. You need to come with me. I’ll show you.”
“We need to tidy up, or they’ll suspect that other people are living here,” I tell Grim, thinking about my toothbrush out on the counter and the T-shirt I left hanging over the chair in my bedroom.
We rush around the living room first, grabbing any evidence of our presence. The duffel bag in the guest room. The dishes we used at lunch. My cloth and bucket from the living room.
“We don’t have much time,” Falkor says, his voice urgent.
Grim throws the duffel over his shoulder while I snatch up the few personal items we’d left lying around. We stash the items in various closets, trying to make it look like they belong. It’s the very best we can do given the time. I don’t think we left any obvious clues. I hope not. My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat.
We meet Falkor at the front door. He’s standing next to the coat closet to the left of the entrance, which he opens.
“You want us to go in there?” Grim says, skepticism clear in his voice.
“Surely not,” I add, staring at the small closet. “That’s the first place they’ll look.”
“Trust me.” Falkor opens the closet quickly. It’s full of coats and jackets, barely enough room for one person, let alone two. “The builder made a mistake years ago. When the front door is open all the way, it blocks this closet door completely. No one will know it’s here. I will make sure of it. You’ll be quite safe.”
“That’s actually really clever,” I say.
“It might just work,” Grim adds.
“Now get in,” Falkor urges. “Both of you. Quickly! You need to be very quiet,” he whispers.
Grim goes first, backing into the tiny space and pressing against the wall. I follow and immediately realize the problem.
There’s no room. None at all.
I’m pressed flush against Grim’s chest, my breasts mashing against him. One of his arms comes around my waist, the other bracing against the wall to the side of us as he tries to give us both space that simply doesn’t exist.
“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to shift away and only succeeding in pressing harder against him.
“It’s fine,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my hair. “Just stay still.”
Falkor reaches in and arranges a few coats, so they’re hanging in front of us, providing extra cover. Then he closes the door.
Darkness envelops us.
