The locked gates rattled for a moment as he passed through them. As he crossed the courtyard, he read the leaves and debris strewn about, looking for evidence.
A trace left no doubt. Aasima was here. He walked unobserved past the smoking guard with a gun. Curtains rippled when he passed through a window.
In the hallway, a mastiff sensed him, rising up. He touched its whiskers, stroked its ears, and continued.
She lay there covered in white sheets, eyes moving under eyelids, dreaming.
He caressed her hair. You dream of freedom. He placed the brass key in her palm.
Picture is copyright by Sarah Horrigan.