This time Claire did scream, in pure frustration, and struggled so much that the chair rocked over on two legs. Hannah simply put a hand on the back of it and thumped it down to the carpet again. She didn’t say anything. Neither did Myrnin.

They just waited, hunters at the water hole, with the stupid goat tied down for the lion.

I am not the goat, Claire told herself. I am not.

All her struggling had loosened the joints on the wood of the chair enough to make it creak, just a little. She had a moment’s fantasy of somehow supercharging her strength, ripping the chair apart, whacking Myrnin over the head with a piece of it (more for satisfaction than damage), and grabbing Hannah’s gun from its holster to hold her at bay.

That wasn’t going to happen, obviously, but it was a nice fantasy.

Something sharp scraped against her wrist as she uselessly twisted it back and forth. Claire froze, and carefully moved her wrist again, pressing.

A nail. It had popped loose from the old wood when she’d twisted around. It wasn’t much, but it was something. By pulling her wrists apart, she could get the tough nylon rope in a position to scrape it over the nail, back and forth, until her shoulders were trembling with strain. Nobody spoke. Hannah and Myrnin were just going to let her struggle uselessly, she supposed, except that now it wasn’t useless. She could feel the rope fraying—slow, but steady.

Fifteen minutes passed, by the tick of the old clock in the corner. Outside, Morganville continued to be silent. No lights flared against the windows. It was like being on the moon.

And just as she felt she was really making progress, Myrnin turned his head and said, “Hannah, I believe she may be fraying her ropes. Please check them.”

No, no, no!

Claire yanked hard, frantic with frustration, and felt her right wrist slip loose as the rope gave, just a little. As Hannah bent over to check, Claire risked everything on one awkward lunge.

And grabbed Hannah’s gun.

Hannah straightened up, fast, and Claire held the pistol in a shaking hand, aimed at her. “Cut the other ropes,” she said. “Now. You can’t want this, Hannah. This isn’t you. You wouldn’t just let me die like this, tied down.”

“We’ll protect you,” Hannah said.

“You can’t protect me! At least let me try to protect myself!”

“Hannah,” Myrnin said, “stand aside.”

If she did that, Claire knew Myrnin would take the gun away. It’d be easy for him. Even if she shot him, she couldn’t stop him. He’d probably gripe about the hole in his shirt; that would be about the worst damage she could inflict on him.

Hannah didn’t move, though. She was blocking Myrnin’s path. Her dark eyes were on Claire’s, and for a moment Claire saw just a bit of doubt on her face.

“You couldn’t do this, either,” Claire said to her. “Sit helpless, waiting. Could you? Look, if you want me to play bait, I will. But not tied up.”