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food,” said a disembodied voice from the other side of the door.
    “Thank you!” Bronte responded automatically and then felt embarrassed and silly.
    She wasn’t hungry. Her stomach was tied into knots. Even if she had been, she didn’t think she could face sitting down to a meal with the three giant cyborgs.
    Assuming, of course, they ate.
    Maybe they had only prepared food for her?
    She didn’t care. She wasn’t hungry and she wasn’t coming out until she was good and ready. Realizing she was dry, she put her clothes back on, wondering if she was going to have to wear her uniform for the rest of her life and how much time that might translate into. When she was dressed, she wrapped the damp cloth around herself again. Damp or not, it gave her some added warmth, made her feel more shielded somehow.
    After looking around, she finally decided to sit on the floor awhile and when she grew tired of that, she lay down on her side and curled up into a tight little ball. She lay listening to the sounds outside at first, a little surprised that they seemed to actually carry on conversations— not that she could make out what they were saying, but it sounded like it must be a conversation. She could hear first one voice and then another. She heard them passing back and forth by the room where she was holed up. A few times, she heard footsteps approach the door, pause for a few moments and then go away again.
    She dozed off. She had no idea how long she’d been locked in the bathroom, but after a while the shaking stopped and she grew warm and relaxed.
    The noise that woke her made her shoot to her feet in alarm, but it was only a deep seated, instinctual reaction to threat. It didn’t do anything for her equilibrium or even awaken her mind enough to really function. Opening wide, burning eyes, she stared at the hole where the door had been as the blond haired cyborg casually set the door he’d just ripped from the hinges to one side, stepped inside with her and caught hold of her before she could even consider trying to elude him. She staggered drunkenly as he hauled her out of the bathroom. He caught her against his chest and then bent and scooped her into his arms.
    “Wha …?” she managed as he added dizziness to her already teetering world when he swiveled around with her and strode purposefully … she didn’t know where he was going. Only that he seemed in a great hurry to get there. “Whas gon …? Where …?”
    “To bed.”
    Bronte’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head at that. “Bed?”
    He settled her on the bunk where she’d treated the others’ injuries earlier. She fought a short round with him over her cloth, but it was a losing battle from the start even if she hadn’t still been too disoriented to be able to defend herself. When he’d taken it from her, though, he rolled her across the bed, dragged the tucked blanket from beneath her, and then rearranged her on the bed and tossed the blanket over her. She caught hold of it with both hands, snatching it up to her nose and peering at him over it. He settled his hands on either side of her, leaning his weight on them as he stared down at her. “You will sleep here when you need to rest.”
    Bronte blinked at him, more because her eyes were still stinging from being so abruptly wakened than because she didn’t understand the order. It wasn’t precisely delivered as an order, but his tone didn’t encourage argument. He studied her a moment longer and finally settled a hip on the bed beside her. Grasping the edge of the blanket, he pried it from her fingers and settled it across her shoulders.
    “You are in no danger,” he said quietly. “You do not need to hide in the facilities … and, as you see, it would make no difference if any one of us wished to go after you.”
    “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Bronte demanded shakily.
    He tilted his head at her. “Yes.”
    “Well, it doesn’t!” she said forthrightly.
    He frowned