The Lightkeepers

8

3. Survival “ Rise and shine, princess! ” Henry ’ s cheerful voice dragged me out of my shallow sleep.

I rolled onto my back and groaned, draping an arm over my eyes. The rough stone of the

window sill poked at my exhausted body, my legs. The sun ’ s rays cast dancing shadows on the

curtain behind my head, preventing the ballet from spilling onto my face. After a moment, I

begrudgingly willed myself into a sitting position, my legs splayed out in front of me, arms loosely

hanging in my lap.

“ C ’ mon, we need to get going before it ’ s too late. ” Henry poked his head through the cloth

barricade separating mine and Ellie ’ s space from the spiral staircase. His grin faded as he leaned

farther in and rested his arms on the foam mattress, goosebumps forming on his skin. “ Are you

sure you and Ellie are warm enough? Winter ’ s coming, and it ’ s already drafty in here. ”

“ Yeah, we ’ re fine. She ’ s like a radiator, I —” I yawned and stretched my arms above my

head, curling my toes as I straightened my legs, “ Mm, sorry, ” I mumbled, another yawn escaping

my chapped lips as I covered my mouth, “ Gimme like five minutes. ”

Henry flashed another smile and reached for my foot, causing me to squeak and pull away

from him before he tickled me. He left, a low chuckle falling from his lips.

How was he so casual in the midst of all this?

Shaking my head, I chased the fatigue from my body. Rubbing the sore spot on my arm, I

pushed onto my knees and changed into a tank top, layering it with a long-sleeved shirt and a

zippered hoodie. Where the hood once resided now lay fraying strands of fuzz and material. The

dismembered hood lay forgotten, somewhere within the stone tower. Pulling my hair back into a

braid, I quickly secured it into a bun. Crawling out of the window, I located my stiff, newly washed

pair of jeans. Closing the curtain on either side of the landing, I tugged them on, my legs swimming

in the pant legs. I frowned when they clung loosely to my hip, falling farther down with each

movement. Glancing around, my mood darkened as my belt was nowhere to be seen.

Muttering to myself, I trudged down the stairs to the makeshift laundry room, which was

the first landing. My eyes raked over the laundry line and the heap of clothes on the floor. My one

hand held my pants in place while the other frantically dug through the pile, hopelessly searching

for the black leather strip. I found it curled on the windowsill, the metal clasp beaming in the

sunlight. Huffing a little, I slipped it through the belt loops and groaned when, even at the last hole,