She clambered up the side of the crates, knife between their teeth. Her sheathe had fallen off earlier and she wasn’t sure when that had happened. Probably the guy who’d just betrayed her. That’s why his blood was on it. It tasted terrible. When she had a free hand, she would spit it out. Unless that would leave too much evidence of her passage. Maybe it would be better to swallow, if just to get it out of her mouth.

Was there a trail that she left? Bloody footprints, from the foot that had lost its boot? It could be hurt, there had been a cut, she remembered that. Not that she felt it. Not anymore.

Hunkering down at the top of the crates, she glared down at the soldiers beneath. When had they first come after her? What had she done? Absolutely nothing. Their search pattern was thorough, but they had yet to look up here. They would find her eventually though. She could not stay up here. With body flat to the metal, she skittered to the far side and looked up to the catwalks. She hid under while a soldier passed. After she would climb up and then… could she move past? Or would she have to take them out? Probably. It was either them or her.

As soon as the footsteps had distanced, she scrambled back up. Once there, she looked back to see the trail she had left behind. Her heart pounded in her throat and it took everything for her not to breath loudly, air hissing past the knife.

“Ma’am? Are… are you all right?”

She stabbed him before he could call out for reinforcements. With a clenched stomach, she dragged the body along, keeping as much of the blood from the metal floor. At least she could take these boots. At least she had that.


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