Page 151 of Cruel Juliet

There aren’t any other exits, though. I search the room from top to bottom and find nothing. Zilch, nada,nichego. The balcony doors are sealed shut, and while I try for a good ten minutes to find a loose hinge I can leverage, it’s just not there.

I knock on the walls next. Softly, as not to draw attention. The room next to mine used to be Lara’s, so it should be empty, too. Another thought that squeezes my heart dry.

No dice, though. The walls are solid rock. Dad always had a thing for European-style castles, and this place is a small-scale replica of that, architecture included. I don’t even want to think about how much it cost.

He didn’t splurge for a moat, though. Or a dragon at the gates.

Bet he’s gonna regret that, too.

But the more I search the room, the less my bravado holds up. I start feeling anxious, fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. The vent that used to be up on the ceiling has been filled in and shut. Probably for noise insulation. Talk about nightmare fuel.

I search for something sharp next. Anything I can use to carve the glass without shattering it and drawing attention.

But the room isn’t heavily decorated, despite the gaudiness of the bedding. An armoire in the corner, a dresser, and that’s it. No conveniently positioned paperweights for me.

The ensuite is bare, too. The mirror has been taken. The pipes are buried in the walls. Nothing in sight I can break, and nothing to break it with.

Finally, my hopes begin to flag.

“Come on, think.” I sit on the edge of the bed and try really hard not to let my mind cook up any more grim scenarios. “Think, Sima. How did you get out of a locked room before?”

The window,answers my twelve-year-old self.

A belt and a lie,says the Sima from last year.

Anya,murmurs the Sima of a few months ago.

So many versions of me, all of them experts at running. And yet, as I sit here staring at the room I grew up in, I realize I’ve finally met my match.

I’m not going to get out of here, am I?

This is bad. My heart starts pounding. If I can’t get out, Petyr will be in danger. He’ll either burst through those doors and risk a bullet for me, or he’ll stay home, eating out of Kira’s palm. Believing her lies.

She might kill him next. Betray him again. And then…

Lilia.

I spring to my feet again. I don’t care what I’ve got to work with, I have to get out of here. Losing Petyr is not an option. And losing my daughter?

Not in a million fucking years.

I can’t imagine a world without them. I don’t want to.

If Kira has her way, she’ll send Lilia here, too. And what will my father do then?

He’d hurt her. Raise her just like he did Lara and me. Use her, abuse her, sell her out to the highest bidder once she’s old enough.

Like hell am I going to let that happen.

I go back to the ensuite and start rummaging through every drawer. There are all sorts of little things: face creams, moisturizers, cylindrical bottles I refuse to touch with a ten-foot pole.

But then my fingers hit something rough.

A nail file.

Bingo.

I try the lock on the window, but it’s too tiny for the file to go through. I’d need a bobby pin for that, and tonight, I didn’t have the presence of mind to do up my hair. A mistake I’ll never make again.