bamboo doesn't grow in dark spaces. [80K Words / Complete]

chapter twenty-five.

The icebox was packed tight to the brim. Raw, fresh produce—apples, carrots, bananas, pears, celery, bell peppers—was tucked into the middle compartment like a beautiful burst of color.

Woah. Case picked up one of the apples, awestruck by its shiny, ruby skin. Had he ever seen something so vibrant, so flawless? This is way better than a guitar.

Various plastic tubs and jars were neatly arranged in the other compartments. One side was dedicated to a range of rations: crackers and granola bars, almonds and cashews, hummus and a few squeezey pouches of yoghurt, plus bottled water . . . and a tub of peanut butter.

It's okay, the voice reasoned. You're so spoiled for choice, maybe he won't notice if you don't open it.

The third compartment held food storage containers, stacked in neat towers. Through their plastic lids, Case could tell they were his regular meals: oats, and chicken, broccoli and rice. There was so much food—day's worth. More than that. Which started to make Case nervous.

"How long are you going to be away for?"

"Can't say for certainty." Sir straightened his posture, hands on his hips, his chest seeming to puff with pride. "But if you're smart and don't mess around with the lid," he kicked the icebox with the side of his boot, "this should keep cool for about ten days."

Ten days? Case's thumbnail pierced the apple's skin, its cool juice stickying his hand. Ten days was probably the longest he'd had gone without seeing Sir—but that had been months ago, when he was first taken, and the loneliness back then had been hell.

"That's plenty of time to make this food last."

"That's also a really long time."

The light behind Sir's eyes dimmed, something inside him turning dark. "Too bad. The world doesn't stop for you, Casey. And I don't like this ungrateful attitude—"

"What if there's a tornado?"

"What?"

"We're in Kansas, right?" Case twisted the apple stem, winding it as tight as the nerves coiling behind his sternum. "Tornado Alley. Is that something I should be worried about? What do I do if you're not here?"

Sir stared him down for a long moment, until his stony expression was cracked by a sharp scoff. "Good memory. It's not that kinda storm."

"Oh." Case scanned the icebox once again, realizing he wasn't going to be getting any hot meals for a while. "I know I can't have a microwave, but if I had one of those camping stoves I'd be able to heat some of this up."

"No."

Case didn't need to ask why. In his head, he whizzed through all the lines he knew Sir would say: the books could be used to start a fire; trial-and-error; don't prevent a fire when you already see smoke, yada-yada. But for months now, Case had done everything right, played Sir's game by all the rules. Hadn't he earned some good will by now?

"Don't you trust me?"

"I don't make the same mistake twice."

Case blinked. "And I haven't made a mistake once."

Sir gave a derisive scoff. "Haven't you?" He combed his fingers through the front of his hair, drawing Case's attention to the pink scar running across his temple.

"Oh, come on, that's not fair," Case said. He thought back to when he was first taken, how scared and desperate he'd been. "You can't hold something like that over me."

Sir gave an exaggerated heave of a sigh. "I dunno," he said, shaking his head and planting his hands on his hips, as if he were contemplating a dilemma. "I know you, Casey. I know you're creative. Imaginative. You're also reckless, impulsive. Whose to say you might be tempted to use some pages from those books to cause a fire?"