The dog’s eyes saw it all. The dog’s ears heard it all. He is Nora’s informant, and they will find him.

Nora waits, prepares, pacing back and forth in her bedroom and thinking of her mother. Cain had killed her, just as he had done with all the others. What if the girl cannot stand up to him? What if he kills Nora?

Her stomach lurches with thoughts of disobedience. To confront the truth, a price must always be paid, but she needs to do it, for the people, for herself, for her mother.

“Mom, I’m going to fix this.”

She hears scraping paws, smells burning, then Herve and Herrell’s footsteps grow distant. After this, there is a slight scratch and a bark at the door. Opening it, Nora sees one end of the hallway on fire and sprinklers dousing the space. Herve and Herrell are nowhere to be seen, likely fighting back the flames, and Puck is wagging his tail gleefully, licking a paw that simmers with fiery heat.

The flames of his propellers–that is how he started the fire.

“You smart dog. Did you see anything?”

His tail wags faster in affirmation.

“Then let’s go.”

Nora runs, slips, returns to her feet, and keeps going. The men do not hear her, see her, sense her missing presence. She is cloaked by the sound of the sprinklers.

Then, the sprinklers stop. Her run slows to a cautious jog, and lungs heaving, she can hear herself breathing. Her breath sounds thunderous in the stillness. As the rest of the world drifts away, her focus hones in on her feet. One foot goes in front of the other then repeats. Movement turns more graceful, more slow, more silent.

She messes up. A foot skims ever so slightly across the smooth floor. A “squeak” cries out. After this, she hears a loathsome animal screech and footsteps rushing toward her. She does not need to see them to know who is pursuing her.

Abandoning stealth, she and her dog dart between halls and connected rooms. Herve and Herrell quickly gain on her.

There is no running, no hiding from them. They will catch you, says the voice in her mind.

“Shut up!” she yells.

Her breath quickens, her head is light, and she dashes in clumsy haste.

Stumbling around a corner, she sees an elevator in sight. She is close.

“You’ll make it,” she announces in self-encouragement. “You have to.”

She can almost reach it, she is almost there, yet with one wrong move, she trips and slides, chafing her knees. Puck tries to usher her up with his snout and she rolls onto her back, holding her bleeding knees.

Herve and Herrell are mere feet from her. With gnashing teeth, they rigidly walk closer. They have her right where they want her, and they are savoring a successful hunt.

She crawls backward, squeals. There is no time to run and nothing left for her to do. Puck is snarling, growling, baring his teeth, while his back ridges upward.

They are getting closer and closer. Weeping, her eyes shut and she thinks to herself, somebody help me, somebody stop them, keep them away, close them in.

She hears grinding metal as something slams to the ground. She hears a pounding knock. Opening her eyes, she gapes at it. It is a large door of titanium, and it blocks her from her adversaries. Clearly, this must be a security measure of the building, but how did she command it?

She then recalls her father’s words: “...In mind, you have full command of them, this room, and this entire building, second only to me.”

The knocking grows louder. It turns into a tearing, ramming, beating noise. Patches of metal begin to warp and tear. A sour stench and a surge of brutish wailing fill the air. That was not the sound of the Herve and Herrell she knew. That was not the sound of a human.

Grasping her ears and scrambling to her feet, Nora shuffles away with her dog. The entire hall is quivering because of their might. The elevator opens by her thought’s command, then pet and owner step inside.