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Jewelry boxes, thought Darica, and went to her parents’ bedroom. She had spent enough time as a child rifling through her mother’s jewelry, and being instructed on the origin and value of the pieces she tried on, to know what she should be stashing. It was only a question of whether the rings stacked on her fingers and the necklaces looped over her arm would all fit. If not, she’d have to find someplace else to hide the rest.

As she reached the kitchen with her first batch, there was a muffled but foundation-rattling boom, and the safe door toppled shut. Are they here already? Mora, give me time! Still holding the jewelry, she pressed her face to the front window, trying to determine what had been hit. She couldn’t see anything, but if the building could feel it, it was closer than it seemed. Why there was a need to bomb anything in this neighborhood, she didn’t know, but it made her task more urgent.

Abruptly, Darica realized she was standing at a street-facing window of a luxury apartment in the good part of town, holding a careful selection of valuables and wearing a face that might look pretty. She ducked out of sight and made her way back to the kitchen, opened the safe and scattered the jewelry inside it. At this rate, it would be safer than she would. But if someone did break in, she thought, even if they didn’t know there was a safe, or how to open it, if she was still here…they could make her tell them.