She watched him pick a spring from the bed to make the transistor.
His plan was to kill the guards when they brought in food, and then transmit a message before those downstairs grew suspicious. It was dangerous, but their kidnappers needed them alive.
‘Tomorrow,’ he whispered.
She looked at her hands that were not killing hands.
Next morning he looked through the sealed skylight.
‘Not today,’ he said. ‘Too many clouds.’
She sobbed silently into her pillow, knowing his radio would never work. Her brother was the son of the government’s communications guru, but he was only six years old.