“That bitch!” Mom screamed.

My body tensed as fear speared my heart and I strained to hear more, needing to know if she was talking about me.

My dad’s quiet rumbling voice sounded but I couldn’t pick out any words.

“She knows! She knows to make sure the dishwasher is on!” she cried, her words slurred.

Tears started to form in the corners of my eyes and I pressed my fist against my lips, trying to hold back all sound as my dad said something else.

I could have sworn I’d turned it on after I made food. Did I not?

“I don’t care that she’s been at school today! Do you not think that I’ve had a busy day too? Do you think that I sit around on my ass all day?” she demanded.

A shaking breath slipped from my lips as my hands trembled.

“I don’t care how late it is! She doesn’t deserve to sleep! She should come down here and clean up the mess she made!”

A door slammed and I jumped, terrified tears slipping from my eyes and trailing down the sides of my face.

I knew she probably wouldn’t hurt me but when she got like this, she was terrifying. My breath came shallowly and quickly as I heard footsteps starting on the stairs.

“No! Get out of my way!” she screamed. “You always do this. You always protect her. She’s not a baby anymore and you’re meant to be on my side! You’re my husband, that means you support me, not her!”

“I know, I do,” my dad said, his voice now audible as they argued from the stairway. “Here, let me make you dinner! Or, I can order you something! What do you want? I’ll get you anything!”

More tears slipped free as I waited for Mom’s response, desperately trying to pull myself together in case she came in.

“I want your daughter not to take me for granted and to stop treating this house like a fucking hotel!”

She always called me his daughter when she was annoyed at me. It was like I was such a disappointment to her that she couldn’t even bear to accept that she was my mom.

Maybe I was.

“I know, I’ll talk to her in the morning,” he lied.

He wouldn’t. He tried to shield me from Mom, not that it worked.

“Ha!” she barked out. “Fat lot of good that’ll do! That child can’t remember a simple fucking instruction even if it’s written in front of her!”

“I’ll talk to her,” Dad repeated, firmer this time. “Let’s go downstairs. Why don’t you put on that movie you wanted to watch and I’ll make something for you to eat?”

There was another bang from the stairs before footsteps started to retreat down the stairs. Loud, stomping ones.

I slipped out of my bed, rubbing my face to erase all traces of tears even as my hands shook. I peered out into the hall through the crack in my door, checking to see if my mom was still out there before pulling the door open a little wider.

My dad stood on the stairs, still in his work suit, his shoulders slumped.

“Dad,” I hissed as loudly as I dared.

He spun around, glancing down the stairs before racing towards me as silently as he could.

“Darling, what are you still doing up?” he whispered, reaching quickly and wrapping his arms around me.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, trying not to let any more tears fall. “I thought I’d turned it on.”

“Oh, it’s not your fault, sweetheart. You know how she gets when she hasn’t eaten all day and has been drinking.”

I clutched at him tightly, guilt wracking me despite his words.

I wanted to keep on apologising, to tell him I’m sorry for not turning on the dishwasher, for not making sure Mom had eaten and for not hiding her half-empty wine bottle whilst she was asleep, for being a terrible daughter and a bad person but I couldn’t get the words out.

I wanted to but I couldn’t. If I started to say them, they’d feel too real.

My dad pulled back slightly and smiled at me.

“I should go downstairs, kiddo. Make sure your mom gets some food in her before she falls asleep again.”

I nodded, not quite trusting my words.

“Go back to sleep, okay?” he said.

I nodded again, swallowing hard before saying, “Good luck down there.”

He smiled at me, his eyes crinkling around the edges.

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle your mom.”

Over his shoulder, my eyes found the badly plastered holes in the wall on the stairs. At least there were no new ones tonight? She must not have hit the wall too hard.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe him, I just worried.

I nodded and pulled away.

“Let me know if you need a hand with anything?” I said, knowing that he wouldn’t.

“Of course. Get some sleep, you have school in the morning.”

I nodded and slipped back into my room as my dad walked reluctantly back down the corridor, stopping to shoot me a tired grin over his shoulder. I let the door slip shut behind me, plunging me into darkness as I leaned back against the door and slid to the floor.

My hands clutched my knees to my chest, digging my blunt fingernails in as tightly as I could. The fear suddenly hit me again, and my chest tightened as burning tears threatened to overwhelm me once more.

I felt powerless, scared and hopeless. I hated living there, unable to ever do anything right and having to be careful not to set my mom off every time I spoke or did anything. The smallest mistake sent her reeling and in a horrible mood for days. There was no escape.

I was trapped.

I dropped my head back against the door, silent sobs shaking my body. I had at least three more years stuck in the house until I could go to university and never look back.

If I got in, that is.

I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to and the idea of that made my tears stream faster. Everything was so scary and fast and overwhelming and I just didn’t want to deal with any of it. I didn’t want to deal with anything! I wanted to go back to my fantasy where I was safe and with someone who didn’t scream at me whenever I made a simple mistake.

Letting out a slower, trembling breath I realised I could just go back to my fantasy. There was nothing stopping me.

My eyes slowly shut and I breathed out, opening them again once a wave of vertigo hit me. My hand tightened around the flat knife, the edges biting into my hand as I fought not to move it at all.

“Okay, slowly let go,” Mitch instructed.

I forced my fingers to slowly open as the world stopped spinning quite so quickly.

Mitch took hold of the knife, carefully edging me out the way.

“What do we do now?” I asked. “Should I grab a rock or something to weigh it down?”

Mitch sent me a grin that felt so reminiscent of my dad that my stomach dropped.

“Nah, that rarely works. It might work for one this old but with the newer ones, they are so carefully calibrated that we’d need to get the weight and the distribution perfect otherwise… boom.”

“So, what do we do?”

“You move back to the other wall and I’m going to test a theory.”

I started edging back before he’s even spoken, almost tripping over the box as I did.

“Which is?” I asked.

“That this trap has already fired. The springs look rusted and there’s a residue that’s stained the bottom of the box but we’re about to find out.”

Ever so slowly, Mitch lifted the knife away from the box. I held my breath, panic making me lightheaded.

“There we go,” Mitch whispered victoriously. “Guess I’ve learnt something in my twenty or thirty or whatever years on the job.”

He turned towards me with a grin which I returned cautiously, guilt still worming into my heart.

I looked down at the unassuming box between us.

“Now, what? Do we take it and run or…”

“Gotta open it here,” Mitch replied, moving towards the box and crouching.

“Why?”

“Dumb mistake I made when I was a kid. I found an artefact similar to this one, threw it in my bag and left. Turns out it was a decoy and it exploded the back carriage of a train. I was damn lucky I chose that moment to go get food.”

I eyed the box suspiciously.

“It was a bomb?”

“Oh yeah. I didn’t think something that old would have so much firepower but now I know better. I don’t reckon this one is a bomb though, it’s too light. Want to come have a look?” he asked.

I nodded, moving closer before shooting a look towards the doorway.

The graveyard seemed quiet, not that I could see much around the wooden sheet Mitch had propped in the doorway but it felt like we were safe.

I dropped to my knees, the dry mud feeling strangely warm through my leggings, and stared at the box.

“So, see how dusty the box is?” Mitch asked, running the knife across it in demonstration.

“Yeah?”

“That’s because it’s coated in wax to seal it and protect whatever is inside. It’s a good idea but it also means that small particles, like dust, stick to it easier.”

Mitch scored a line in the top of the box before starting to pry the wax off.

I watched carefully, trying to memorise everything he said and did so that I could be more useful next time instead of just watching.

“How much of the wax do we need to get off?” I asked.

Mitch cocked his head slightly, glancing over my shoulder and eyeing the doorway before responding.

“Not much. Just enough to work out how this box opens. I reckon the top just swings up.”

I nodded, continuing to watch him work silently.

He methodically cut into the wax, prying it up and peeling as much as would come off before throwing it into the duffle bag.

“Why are you putting the wax in the bag? Surely it’ll make things in there sticky,” I asked.

“Gotta leave this place looking as clean and not suspicious as possible. The vines should be thick enough that no one really looks too hard at this but when they do, they should just assume it’s vandals and plaster it back up,” he said without looking up.

“What about the trap?”

“Eh, people are dumb. It should be safe. I reckon whoever they call in will just remove it without even working out what it was meant to do. There we go!”

Mitch peeled a chunk of wax back, revealing the entirety of the top of the box and some of the edge. I started to lean forwards, trying to see more and wanting to know what was inside.

“Careful not to lean over the box. If there’s a spring dart or something in there, you do not want it to hit you,” he warned.

I moved back immediately, having not even considered the possibility of being shot in the face with something from that small box. It didn’t look like it was big enough to hold a dart or anything like that. It was only about the height of my middle finger, surely that wouldn’t be big enough.

Mitch carefully wedged the tip of his knife under the lip of the box, his eyes darting up to check on me, before he slowly began to lever it up. A sharp, splintering crack tore through the air and I winced, my eyes hunting for the source of the sound, certain that it was Sterling’s people and that they’d started firing at us.

“Sorry, should have warned you they nailed the lid down,” Mitch whispered after a while.

I rested one hand on my racing heart in an attempt to still it.

“I thought we’d been caught!” I whispered back.

Mitch grinned at me apologetically.

“Not just yet but look at this.”

He pried the lid up further and tilted the box towards me.

Hesitantly, I leaned forwards to get a closer look at whatever was inside, confusion washing through me.

“A key?” I asked, staring at the elaborate but somewhat disappointing golden key that rested in the bottom of the box.

“A key,” Mitch said with a grin.

“Is that it?”

“It’s all we need.”

A stone skipped along a path behind us and the grin dropped from Mitch’s face.

He lifted one finger to his lips, gesturing for me to be silent, before reaching out and tucking the key into the inner pocket of his jacket. Slowly, he lifted the box, placing it into the duffle bag and zipping it shut as quietly as possible.

I couldn’t move, I was frozen in fear as I strained to hear more.

There was movement outside, that much was certain. Quiet, muffled footsteps sounded occasionally as someone, more than one person, walked across the grass. I wanted to ask Mitch what to do but I knew that any noise could shatter the silence and we would be attacked.

Mitch’s eyes found mine again and he brought his finger to his lips again before gesturing for me to stand. I started to move as slowly as I could, each rustle of my clothes horrifically magnified, until I was standing.

Mitch padded towards the door, bringing his face to the small space so he could peer out. One hand tucked the duffle carefully over his shoulder as the other reached for the gun he had holstered.

“It’s not them,” he breathed causing a sigh to slip out of my mouth as he let go of the gun again. “As soon as this couple leaves, we go too. Stay vigilant. Just because we haven’t seen them yet doesn’t mean they aren’t here.”

I nodded, slightly comforted by the fact that they weren’t there yet but still terrified by the concept of them appearing.

It’s my fantasy, I tried to convince myself. I get to decide if they show up or not.

“Okay, on the count of three, we’re going to go. Walk straight to the car and if I say run, run. Don’t stop for anything or anyone. One, two, three!”

He lifted the plywood sheet out of the way, propping it on the outside of the mausoleum and marching quickly.

I hurried to keep up, keeping my head forwards but I couldn’t stop my eyes from roaming. The graveyard was empty. A little too empty. There was absolutely no one there and no noise. Even the music from the surrounding houses had stopped.

I was painfully aware of eyes on me. I wasn’t sure where they were but they pricked into my skin, making me itch.

“Mitch,” I breathed. “I don’t think we’re alone.”

We reached the path on the other side of the grass, turning towards the gates and speeding up.

“We aren’t.”

It took all of my strength not to burst into a run as footsteps started behind me.

They weren’t close but they were moving faster than us. They’d catch up.

“When we turn the corner, run. Get to the car and get in as fast as possible.”

I nodded, my heart stuttering in my chest.

The corner wasn’t far but it felt like an eternity before we reached it. I burst forwards, sprinting down the street and almost knocking a woman over. I was past her before I even heard her shout, blinding sprinting towards the car we’d left earlier, aware of Mitch running ahead of me.

He was faster than me. He was faster and he was going to leave me there.

I pushed myself to move even quicker, hearing another shout behind me as someone else ran into the woman but I couldn’t look back.

In front of me, the car beeped and Mitch ripped the door open. I flung myself towards the door, my sweaty hands slipping on the door handle as I finally let myself glance back.

“Fuck,” I muttered, looking back at the door and hauling it open.

They were too close, they were going to reach us before we could escape.

I threw myself into the seat, slamming the door behind me.

“Strap in!” Mitch shouted, not waiting for me to follow his instructions before he pulled the car out of the spot, narrowly missing an oncoming car.

I grappled with the seatbelt, my hands shaking and barely able to get it in.

“Are they following us?” I asked, my breath coming in pants as I turned and looked over my shoulder before checking the mirrors.

“Yep,” Mitch said grimly. “Those assholes. How did they find me this time?”

I sunk back in my seat, my heart racing and sweat caking my entire body.

“What do we do?” I cried, my voice high pitched with fear.

“We lose them. We ain’t going back to the hotel, I got a plane waiting for us near enough but we need to get rid of them before then.”

Mitch weaved through the streets, overtaking cars, his eyes bouncing between his mirrors.

“Get rid of them? How?” I asked, my voice still squeaky.

“We need to lose them, get them stuck in the city or lost. Grab my phone for me, will you?”

I looked around the car frantically, my eyes landing on the smartphone in the cup holder.

“Got it!” I shouted, fear making my hands weak.

“Find the app Red, Yellow, Green.”

I scrolled through the many pages, landing on one that had the icon of a traffic light.

“Okay,” I said as I clicked on it and waited impatiently for it to load. “Now, what?”

A map appeared on the screen, showing our location and the streets around us.

“Click on the menu button on the top left and find the bit that says ‘User’s programmes” and select the third one down.”

I did as he said.

“Green ahead, red behind?” I read, wanting to make sure before I selected the programme, just in case I accidentally broke something.

“That’s it! Click it and then when the popup appears click ‘Execute’,” Mitch instructed, skillfully weaving through the city.

I did as he said, my sweaty fingers leaving a smear on the screen.

“Okay, done.”

“Great!” Mitch said with a grin as he glanced in the mirror again. “Now I want you to go to messages and start a new one to someone called ‘Pilot Lauren’.”

I closed the app, glancing in the mirrors at the cars that were following us closely, before opening his messages and typing in her name.

“Okay, what do you want me to say?”

“Coming in hot, Sterling’s on my ass and I got a stowaway.” He paused for a moment as he swerved around a car, narrowly missing it, and sped through a yellow light. “Should be at the farm in about… thirty minutes. Will lose them by then. Got that?”

I finished typing and scanned back over it quickly to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

“Think so.”

“Great,” Mitch replied, accelerating even faster as we started to get into a slightly less busy area. “How many cars do you see following us?”

My eyes snapped to the wing mirror.

Two cars weaved in and out of the traffic behind us, mimicking our movements, but there was another one. It was slightly further back but catching up quickly. They were all different models and colours but they were definitely all following us.

“Three.”

“Good. You caught the grey Audi at the back?” Mitch asked with a glance in the mirror.

I nodded before realising he was focusing on driving.

“Yeah,” I said before his phone buzzed in my hands. “The pilot’s responded. They said ‘okay, will warm up the engines. Location?’ What do you want me to say?”

“Hold on,” Mitch said before cutting in front of a car and swerving down a side street. “Say ‘no clue, will know once we’re in the air but prep for long distance’.”

I typed it back and hit send, glancing in the mirrors again.

“Long distance?” I asked, a tiny bit of anxiety gnawing at my stomach. “How far do you think we’ll be going?”