The voice sounds insistent, clipped and urgent; a chill runs down Kara's spine as she dangles from the windowsill. Adrenaline has gotten her this far, but without superhuman strength to call on, she's only managed to haul herself a few feet up in the air. It's not exactly covert.
Her shoes catch against an exposed piece of what looks like brick. It should be solid enough, should hold her weight enough to be used as leverage to help her climb another half-foot of wall, to get her hands looped around the windowsill enough to pull her body up and over. But, since nothing in this dark cave of doom and gloom can ever be quite right, the exposed material is neither sturdy nor strong. It's probably a weak imitation of the real thing — HappyPaste or GoodWall or some forcefully positive nomenclature that sounds neither happy nor good.
The material crumbles under her weight, pieces of heavy, dark rock clanging against each surface it bounces off of, and Kara's thudding heartbeat goes into overdrive.
There's no way whoever's chasing her didn't hear that.
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Her shoes catch against an exposed piece of what looks like brick. It should be solid enough, should hold her weight enough to be used as leverage to help her climb another half-foot of wall, to get her hands looped around the windowsill enough to pull her body up and over. But, since nothing in this dark cave of doom and gloom can ever be quite right, the exposed material is neither sturdy nor strong. It's probably a weak imitation of the real thing — HappyPaste or GoodWall or some forcefully positive nomenclature that sounds neither happy nor good.
The material crumbles under her weight, pieces of heavy, dark rock clanging against each surface it bounces off of, and Kara's thudding heartbeat goes into overdrive.
There's no way whoever's chasing her didn't hear that.