[F18→Hallway]
The indignation Natalia had felt following her conversation with Anise had faded, minutely, during dinner. It returned with a vengeance as that man's voice disturbed the air. How could he? What nerve, what absolute unfathomable gall to lie throughout the day, then speak so frankly when night fell. Why pretend at all? Why paint an
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It was almost nostalgic. Like the days before they all left when they'd spend their nights talking about the mysteries of hatches and freighters and people in the woods, wondering what shook the trees at night and how a Scotsman could predict the future.
Her lip trembled. She had never quite decided if she forgave Desmond or not.
But now was not the time for reminiscing. Claire didn't know what to make of this sudden turn of events or how it slotted into her knowledge of the Others, but she wanted no part of this. In all likelihood this was some sort of trap. No decent captor would set his prisoners loose and not have a plan to cage them up again. Every inch of her knew this.
Even so, she found herself cautiously creeping out the door. A thorough search hadn't provided any of these mysterious rings the voice had rambled about, but she did manage to find a torch under her pillow. It raised more question than it answered, it's very existence seemed to imply this was some sort of game. But it was heavy and made of sturdy metal. That was enough for her to give up on prying the closet rod loose (the keys were too thick to fit the screws anyway). She wasn't stupid enough to use the light itself - might as well put a nice big target on your back - but it could make a decent club until she found something better.
The keys clinked in the loose pocket as she slipped out, padding noiselessly into the hall. Years ago she would have been too clumsy for this sort of stealth, but she'd had a lot of practice since then.
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