Nora sat enclosed in her cart, stroking Pat. She was locked down for the night, and couldn’t believe the whirlwind into which she had gotten sucked. She was in. She couldn’t wrap her head around it, but she was in. It had seemed so far-reaching when she stated her intentions—that no one, herself included, would take it seriously—to join the resistance. She hadn’t realized how deeply the Resistance reached.

She could hardly remember the details of what was asked of her, her replies. She stated her intentions and why she could be trusted to the man confidently, honestly, and with as much conviction as she felt, but already her mind had culled the memory. She hardly recalled the expressions his face showed with each answer. With his queries there had been a certain flicker of his eyelids that distracted her, and she remembered the shape of his brow better than the questions asked of her.

Not that she could truly recall his face. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to remember his face. He seemed to fade from memory as quickly as glass could bend to her hands. The man had seemed satisfied, she recalled, when she gave her final answers- there had been a light flicker to the corner of his mouth when he said that she would do.

Or something like that.

The words he had said were slipping away. Everything about their exchange was apparently inconsequential to her neurons, as he flickered in and out of her memory. The only things she recalled clearly were important tidbits he had quickly helped her memorize- safe havens, people of interest, a few simple code words, phrases to be particular about, things and people on which to keep an eye… She had gone over it dozens of times since they had parted.

She looked down at the hingle in her lap and smiled, “That’s it then. I’m a party member.” She inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of her birds and glass chemicals, and sighed, finally feeling she was in the right place. That she was able, and capable of doing the right thing.

She slipped the hingle into his glass cage, latching the door tightly. After changing into a simple shift, she laid down, settling under her blankets. She closed her eyes. She would dream tonight of the man who opened the doors to the Resistance to her, but in the morning she would feel rested, and certain that she hadn’t dreamt. And she would be certain her sleep was that of one who could rest easy, knowing she could help change the world aright.