At first she thought it was part of whatever dream she’d been having, but it grew louder as she came fully awake instead of fading away. It was coming from both the closet and the ceiling. She couldn’t imagine what it could be. There were no mice on Cyan, but it was too uneven—too intentional—to be machinery. She pulled the covers to her chest and drew her legs up, her bare feet suddenly feeling exposed. Nothing from the wild was supposed to be able to penetrate the settlement’s perimeter fence, but how many failures and breaches had there been since they’d arrived ten years ago? Twenty at least. More every year. The skittering stopped. Just as she was beginning to feel relieved, it returned. A sharper sound joined it, of clicking on tile. A prickling dread ran through Phillipa as she propped herself onto her elbows to peer into the dark closet. She could see something moving inside but couldn’t make out what it was.
