Chapter 9: The Argument in the Dark
Clara moved fast, her black dress whispering against the dirt as she crossed the small space between them, grabbing Julian’s shoulder with a grip that was surprisingly strong for her small frame. "You don't promise anything to them," she hissed, her face inches from his ear, smelling of expensive perfume and cold sweat. "You don't know what they’re carrying. You don't know what’s in their heads." Julian stood up slowly, towering over her by half a foot, his dark eyes cold and flat as he looked down into her face. "I know enough to see that you've lost your mind, Clara," he said, shaking her hand off his shoulder with a sharp jerk. "Locking kids in a cellar? This isn't business. This is panic." "This is survival!" she snapped back, her voice rising for the first time, echoing off the low concrete ceiling before she caught herself and dropped it to a fierce whisper. "The people outside aren't coming to talk, Julian. They aren't federal agents with badges and warrants. They’re cleaners. And if they find these two in here, they aren't going to arrest us—they’re going to dig a hole behind the garage and throw us all in it together." She held up the phone again, the screen now flashing a solid, pulsing amber light. "The front door sensor just tripped. They didn't knock."
