"We can't just—Grath, we cannot just break in. That's not how this works."
"Why not?"
She stares at me like I've suggested we burn the building down. "Because it's illegal. Because breaking and entering is a crime. Because?—"
"So is what they're doing," I cut in. "Lying. Bribing. Destroying homes. That's illegal too."
"Yes. Yes, I know that. But we're trying to be the good guys here, Grath. We're better than them."
I lower my binoculars. Look at her. She's right, probably. She usually is. But the sight of those blueprints, the casual way they've mapped out the destruction of our homes, makes something hot and sharp twists in me.
Our homes. When did I start thinking of it that way?
"We could take a picture," Maris says. "If we can get a clear shot through the window."
"Too far. Glass is dirty."
"Then we wait. She has to leave eventually. Maybe she'll leave them on the desk."
"Or maybe she takes them with her."
Maris chews her bottom lip. The streetlight catches the worry lines between her eyebrows. She's thinking. Calculating. Trying to find the perfect solution that doesn't involve risk.
There isn't one. I know it. She knows it. We're backed into a corner, and the only way forward is through that dirty window on the second floor.
"I'll go," I say, and the words come out steady. Certain. Like I've already made the choice and my mouth is just catching up.
"What?" Maris turns to me fully now, her eyes wide in the dim light.
"Through the window. I'll climb up, get the papers, and come back down. Simple."
"Grath, no." She says it fast, automatic, like her body rejected the idea before her brain even finished processing it.
"Someone has to do this, Maris."
"It doesn't have to be you." But there's no conviction in her voice. She's already running the calculations, already seeing what I see—that there's no other way.
"Who else is there?" I ask quietly, not unkindly. "Who else can reach that window? Who else can move quietly enough?"
She doesn't have an answer for that. I can see her working through the options, discarding each one. We both know I'm theonly one who can scale the building quickly enough to get in and out before Janelle notices.
"If you get caught—" Her voice is tight, pitched low like she's trying to keep the fear from spilling out.
"I won't." I say it firm. Final. Not because I'm certain, but because she needs to hear it said that way.
"You don't know that." She takes a half-step closer, and I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw is set. "You can't know that."
"I'll be fast." I keep my voice steady, calm. The way I used to talk to spooked horses in the stables, low and even, no sharp edges.
"Fast doesn't matter if she calls the police, Grath." The words come out clipped, each one landing like a stone. "Fast doesn't matter if you're halfway through that window when she walks in and sees you."
"Then I'll be quiet too." I meet her eyes, hold them. "Fast and quiet. Both."
Maris makes a frustrated sound. Grabs my arm. Her fingers are small and strong and I want to cover them with my own hand but now isn't the time.
"I'm serious, Grath." Her voice drops even lower, almost a whisper now, and there's something raw underneath it that makes my chest ache. "If something goes wrong, if Janelle sees you, if the fire escape gives way, ifanythinghappens?—"
"It won't." I keep my tone level, certain. The same voice I use when the kitten is scared of thunder.
