"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