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The safe had closed again. Darica cursed silently and opened it, transferring to her bag the pieces that fit her criteria before scattering her other handful inside. She was surprised that it fit, but she supposed that keeping everything nicely separate in roomy pretty boxes made it look bigger than it was. There was even room for more, if she chose carefully. Not jewelry, though. She went to the mantelpiece and took down the smallest family photo, a two-year-old pose of the three of them smiling, the light just so on perfect hair. It was hard enough to remember that kind of time now; it would be even more important to have a reminder later. She set the picture in among the necklaces, and closed the safe.

Now what? she thought, moving the tile back into its spot and making sure there weren’t any out-of-place scuff marks to give it away. I have to be ready in case they don’t want me. Food, water, toothpaste, bandages, tissues. She could hear what she thought sounded like gunfire, but she resolved to ignore it until she was ready to go. An ancient leather bag left over from her father’s childhood camping days held enough supplies to satisfy her. If she needed any more, or if this was stolen, she was sure there were plenty of other houses being left just like this one.

And on that note, this place doesn’t look robbed, Darica thought as she gulped a bottle of water. Heh. I should have known it’d take something like this to get to make a mess. She spent a manic few minutes opening dresser drawers, throwing the contents onto the floor, and generally undoing the careful order her parents imposed. She had smashed a couple of the ugliest vases and statues in the apartment and was on the last one when she heard a bang from downstairs. A door, not a gun; and since the infamous door-slamming couple from the story below were long gone, it was probably someone entirely different.