My new room is a vast improvement over the previous one. At least, it has a bed, a window, and an attached bathroom. I'm still in the town hall's building, though, and on the third floor to boot. And the door outside is still locked.
The window is locked, too. But the hatch has a much simpler construction, and when I put my mind and a dozen minutes of fiddling with my switchblade into it, breaks. The night air outside is fresh and smells like hope.
I huddle into my hoodie. Hank returned it to me, but not the contents of its pockets. Not that it had any sort of rope that would help me climb out.
I look out of the window. There's a fire ladder just several feet away, and enough decorative ledges to, theoretically, just crawl to it. Theoretically. If I fail, I will have a closer meeting with the old pavement three stories below than I'd like.
Well, it's that or making rope out of bedsheets. I don't think there are enough bedsheets for this climb.
