Heather sat straight up in her bed. She felt slightly disorientated, but she knew once she was up and going nothing would stop her. Prepared, she pulled on her boots, and tiptoed across the landing and down the small flight of stairs that led to the living room. She looked around, tying to orient herself in the dark room. She froze, as a creak came from upstairs. Petrified her parents would come down here and find her, Heather tore across the room, arms outstretched, in case she bumped into anything. She fumbled around for the door knob to the kitchen. She could definately hear footsteps now! She found the knob and twisted it, darting through the small gap she made for herself, and closing the door firmly behind her. The feet were on the landing now, she would have to hurry! She zipped to the bread basket and pulled out two large oatmeal loaves. She pulled a small parcel of goats cheese from a dairy tin, and wrapped this all in a table cloth she found in a drawer. The person was in the living room! EEK! Heather sprinted across the length of the kitchen, and dived out of the kitchen door, onto the gloomy street below, and shut it, just as the knob started to turn on the living room door. She kept to the shadows, and skirted around the edges of the square. If the Peacekeepers caught her out and about at this hour, what more with food that would be presumed stolen... She would be shot dead for sure! She was sure a movement at the upstairs window of the bakery meant someone could see her, but she couldn't worry about that know. Be caught by the Peacekeepers and almost certainly shot, or endure the rumours that would circulate for the next two weeks. She would take the rumours, thank you very much. Heather hurried through the District, sticking to the shadows, and twitching at every slight disturbance in the air. Even her own breath scared the crap out of her. Soon she reached Carvers' house, without seeing so much as a sock that was looked at funny by a Peacekeeper. She hesitated outside his house debating whether to go inside or just tap at his window. She stood there shuffling from foot to foot, before she heard the door creak, and Carver emerged into the liquid silver of the moonlight.
"Why are you here?" he asked, wary but alert.
She took a deep breath and looked into his silver bleached face. "Carver... We need to talk..."