Chapter 4 - The Pink ScissorsSilas stared in utter disbelief. “Poppy? What in God’s name are you doing here?”
“I told you,” Poppy whispered fiercely, her little face scrunched up with determination as she crawled right up to his shoes. “Important people need cheerful hats. And you look stuck.”
“Poppy, listen to me,” Silas hissed, his voice urgent. “The bad men are right upstairs. You need to go back to the safe with your mother—”
“No,” she interrupted stubbornly, holding up the pink plastic scissors with one blade already bent from trying to pry open a crate. “I’m going to fix it. Mama says we fix things when they're broken.”
Before Silas could argue, heavy footsteps approached the cellar stairs from above.
One of Graham’s guards turned around, shouting into the gloom, “Hey! Did you hear something down here?”
Poppy froze. Silas’s heart slammed against his ribs.
With desperate, frantic energy, Poppy jammed the plastic scissors against the thick blue industrial cord binding Silas’s right wrist. The dull plastic blade sawed against the nylon fibers, her tiny muscles straining with all her might.
Snap.
The first layer of cord frayed and snapped apart.
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“Hey! Who’s down there?!” the guard barked, his heavy boots crunching down the stone stairs, flashlight beam sweeping across the cellar floor.
The beam sliced through the darkness, heading directly toward the corner where Silas and Poppy sat hidden behind the heavy iron chair.
