"Move quietly," Marina whispered, sliding a rusty hammer into her jacket as glass shattered behind her.
"Shh," she told the empty kitchen, opening a drawer with fingers that didn't shake.
"Don't make me regret this."
"Jar opener," she mumbled, fingering a bent opener and snapping it free.
"Battery pack. Charger. Anything that charges."
"System?" she asked the thin air when a faint overlay jittered across the corner of her vision.
"Any sign?"
"Nothing useful," Marina said, because talking made checking feel less like gambling.
The freezer hissed. She yanked a frozen pack of something that used to be soup and shoved it under her jacket for later.
"Calories," she said. "Useless until melt, but calories."
There was a tin of peaches with a swollen lid. She pried it. The jam jar was sticky and warm from a thermal pocket near the oven. She thumbed the lid off and tasted a smear on her finger.
"Sweet," she said. "Save this for sleep."
A drawer under the sink coughed up two AA batteries, a screwdriver with a taped handle, and a square car charger with three USB ports. She held the charger like a small promise.
"Car charger," she said to herself. "Big ticket."
A shadow moved beyond the doorway and the room smelled like dust and old smoke. Marina froze like a practiced statue.
"Is someone there?" she asked out loud, because silence was dangerous.
No answer. Feet pads on the hallway carpet, slow, practiced. Not human enough for