Sneaks to the docks

I crossed my room almost silently, grabbing the spare backpack I’d been saving for the day the Trio ruined another one on the way, and slid the window open just enough, then slipped out with a move that probably would have made Olympic gymnasts green and landed on the lawn below with only the slightest of sounds.

I waited for a moment, holding my breath, but nothing happened. The lights did not suddenly flip on in Dad’s room, his voice did not suddenly call out for me. I was in the clear.

I let my breath go, then started for the warehouse. I was a ghost as I moved, barely more than a whisper on the wind, there and gone by the time you looked to see what had brushed against the grass or flickered past your window. If you glimpsed me, you might think me a trick of the light or a figment of the imagination.

I supposed that was the point. None of the Hassan would have been any good at what they did if they were easily spotted or noticed.