"Wh...?"

Thomas's question was cut off by Bren's hand covering his mouth. Being unable to take it away, he could only lay there and take the hint to stay silent.

There was a sudden loud thud that pushed the air in against their ears, and the ground beneath them shuddered. The crash of something heavy falling. A pause.

Unknown voices.

"Let me in there."

"We need to check it first, sir."

"Look. They've gone. Nothing to check."

"Could be traps, sir. Please, sir."

"Hurry then!"

Shuffling. Heavy footsteps.

"Clear."

"I told you as much. Now, out of my way."

"Sir."

"They've cleared out. How the hell have they cleared out?"

"I don't know, sir."

"I don't pay you to not know. I pay and expect you to most definitely know."

"Sir."

"She's meant to be a Cham, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?"

"Yes, sir. Cham confirmed."

"Fuck. Well. I ain't hanging around this dump. We need to find them. And by we, I mean you."

"Sir!"

"Sir? I think you should look at this." it was another speaker, the voice further away.

"What you got?"

"Glass fragments, sir. My guess is they're from some bottles."

"Bottles? They were probably drinking their dad's vodka supply."

"I don't think to sir. There's traces of fluid."

"What sort of... Ah. The boy is trying to jump start himself."

"Maybe it worked, sir. They'll be long gone if it has."

"I don't think we need to worry about that. Doesn't matter, he's not getting away."

"What about the girl, sir?"

"What about her?"

"Yes, sir. Understood sir."

"Move out!"

Shuffling, hurried feet. A clatter of something falling.

Silence.

From inside the shallow hole behind the sofa, there was only heavy breathing and thudding heartbeats. Both Thomas and Bren were too afraid to move. Thomas wasn't sure if he was capable of movement but, either way, he was remaining still. Bren had released her hand from his mouth, leaving them both feeling isolated in the darkness. Fumbling, she laid her hand on his chest, the pair of them gaining some measure of comfort from the contact.

"Can you move?"

Thomas jumped. He hadn't heard her move and couldn't, in the darkness, see. He would have assumed their eyes would have grown accustomed to the lack of light, at least allowing him to make out shapes. That wasn't happening. A wall of deepest black had built itself around his eyes, blocking everything.

"I don't know," he said. He was still feeling apart from himself and wasn't sure if he yet had control of his body.

"Wel, how about trying?" Bren sounded harsher than she intended, but he'd have to deal with that.

She'd been careful with their route. It was winding enough to shake anyone following them, and should have sufficed. She couldn't see any way they could have found her.

But, it wasn't Bren who they were looking for. It was Thomas. She was collateral damage, drawn into their hunt by the accident of taking pity on a boy she'd never met before.

Thomas tried to move his arm, but found he couldn't. It was as if he'd forgotten how to. The impulses from his brain were getting lost on the way to his limbs. He tried again, but is was no use.

"I can't," he said. "I'm trying to, but it's not working."

"Well, do you have any powers?"

"Er... How would I know? What does it feel like?"

Bren had to think. She knew, back when hers had appeared, she could sense it within her it was like a fire that was waiting to be set alight. Now, it was just a part of her. One she didn't have to think about. It was just there, waiting to be let out.

She'd wondered before about that part of it. It really did feel like a caged animal allowed out on its leash, only to be pulled back in when it was no longer required. What would happen if the lead snapped and it couldn't be imprisoned again?

That, she supposed, was why The Spot existed. Barbaric fun as it was, it stopped the beast from escaping for good. She wasn't condoning what they did, but she would admit to watching the show and seeing why it was required.

"I think you should just feel it in there. It'll want to be let out and you open the door."

"How do I do that?"

"With you mind. You just think about it and it should happen. Once you've done that a few times, it changes. It's more like instinct. Or breathing. Yeah, it's like breathing. You don't know you're doing it, but it happens anyway."

"I can't feel anything there. Apart from feeling like I'm not really myself, it's like... empty."

"Maybe you need more time for your body to adjust. Just wait. It'll come. We need to get out of here."

"But, I can't move."

"Listen," she said, leaning into him. "I dragged your arse in here. I'm not dragging you back out. My place is a wreck, thanks to you."

Thomas had heard the conversation as much as she had. He'd interpreted it the same way. He was what they'd come for. They didn't care about Bren, so she may as well die. It was his fault her home was gone and his for her almost dying.

"That alarm worked good," he said, trying to take a positive from the situation. "If it hadn't been for that..."

"We'd have been toast. I know. There's a Blocker in the material at the back of the sofa, as well. That's why they didn't find us."

"A Blocker? In the sofa?"

"Yeah. I ain't survived for so long by being stupid. You're not the only one with contacts who can get stuff."

"Your friends?"

"Yeah. It was like a parting gift. Otherwise they'd have known we were there."

Thomas nodded in the darkness. He imagined every unit of soldiers, or whatever they were, would have an X. Able to see through almost anything – and so many getting into serious trouble for doing so at inappropriate times – X's were invaluable when searching for someone or something. They were one of the most strictly managed types. Invasions of privacy were common. So were their often short lives from using their abilities when they shouldn't.

"Come on," she said. "You need to be able to move."

"I'm trying!" he insisted. He was. His body just wouldn't do as he told it.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Try. Maybe it's like breathing. Or using your powers. It just happens on its own."

"I don't get you."

"Stop trying so hard. Think of something else. Maybe it'll come back by itself, like out of necessity."

It was worth a try, he thought. The problem was to stop thinking about the only thing he could think about. It wasn't so easy to force yourself to do that. If you were told not to think about a large plate of chips, covered in salt and vinegar, you wouldn't be able to do it. You'd be picturing it. Tasting it in your mind.

He needed to divert his focus. Trapped in the darkness, he didn't know what to think about that might work. Perhaps concentrating on what they might find when they climbed out of the hole would do the job. He started to picture it. The piles of rubble. The broken table. The glass pieces.

"What do you think he meant?"

"What? What about?"

"They don't need to worry about my 'jump start'. I don't get it."

"Who cares? They've fucked up my place and we only just got away. I think making sure we still get away should be the priority."

"I know. You're right. It's just..."

"It's just time to bloody move."

Thomas brought his mind back to the matter at hand. Movement. He stared into the darkness, letting his mind wander. After a while, pops of white appeared then vanished, much like the dots in the vials. The spots started to take shape. They were cars. People. His father. He let the images move and have their brief burst of life, turning thoughts from his paralysis. He tried to lifting his leg, bringing only a small part of his thoughts to the task. That part was enough to erase the images diverting him. He was still unsuccessful.

A growl came from behind them. It started low, a rumble in the back of his mind, but rapidly grew in volume to fill the space they were in.

"What the hell is that?" he shouted at Bren.

She didn't answer. Maybe she was too afraid to. The creature growling was moving closer and becoming fiercer. The growl changed up to a snarl and then, only a few inches from his, the snarl was a bone shaking roar.

He pushed himself up, launching himself at the inner wall of the doorway they'd gone in with. It moved, but only slightly. Closer still, he could feel its hot breath on the back of neck. He pushed at the wall again and, this time, there was a faint click and it moved outwards. The sofa, pushed along with the section of wall, hit something. It didn't matter. There was enough room for Thomas and Bren to get out, and for the light to get in.

Thomas turned to see what Bren was doing, but was shocked to see her unconscious on the floor. Had she fallen? Fainted? He'd heard neither, but had been preoccupied with the animal in the crawlspace with them.

Except.

He could see Bren, but that was all. The space went back only a little further than where he'd been. There were still shadows, but they were faded, unwilling to give their corners up to the light trying to banish them.

There was no animal. Nothing to growl or roar. Only Bren.

He turned to peer around the piece of wall that served as a door to their hideaway. At any other time, being in there would have given him a thrill. At that moment, he could imagine himself suffering from claustrophobia as a result. The room was empty. The entrance was in pieces across the floor and parts of the ceiling had collapsed. The coffee table was broken in three pieces and was scattered along with the ceiling.

He looked out at the wall to the park. A large crack ran down from its top but, otherwise, it was intact. The intruders had gone, leaving the room in the state it had been in from their forced entry. Thomas shook his head. He'd gone to Bren for help and had almost had her killed. Her home, her place of supposed safety, was rubble. With a sigh, he turned back to the girl and moved to pull her out. While she'd dragged him in without an issue, he found her to be unwieldy and heavy. It was an effort to move her, but he couldn't leave her where she was.

Taking his prompt from Bren's words, he didn't try to force his powers to show themselves. Instead, he mentally coaxed them out. They, if they existed at all, weren't yet ready so he had no choice but to use his ten year old strength. Finally, after much effort and several false starts, he'd managed to get her out of the small room. He pushed the sofa back in place and brushed it as clean as he could, then lifted her, part by body part, up onto the cushions. Unsure of what to do to rouse her, he stroked her cheek. It was a soothing gesture his mother had done when he was hurt or couldn't sleep because of fights or screams outside. His father had taken it up after her death. It hadn't quite felt the same, being more forced and clumsy, but it achieved the same result. Thomas would calm down. He'd sleep if he'd been unable to or he'd wake if he was having a nightmare.

After a few moments, Bren stirred. Thomas felt exposed and in danger, but remained by her side. She would have, he thought, for him. The girl's eyes opened slowly and she tried to sit up, wincing and holding her head.

"Are you OK?" Thomas asked.

"I think so. My head's pounding. What happened?"

He wasn't sure what to tell her. She might not believe him. he may well have been imagining things. He wasn't, though.

"I've never met anyone like you," he said.