he little girl wasn't even sure exactly why she had done it.
Maybe it was as simple as pre-teen rebellion in a place without many options for acting out.
Maybe it was to get back at her mother for ignoring her so completely.
Maybe it was a cry for her attention.
Maybe some small, quiet part of her still thought all these years later that the terror of leaving would be worth five minutes in the glow of the angry sun.
All she knew was that on one of the rare occasions she had been summoned to have dinner with her mother they were interrupted halfway through.
Her mother stepped into the hallway.
Left her ID badge on the table.
The little girl's hand acted before her brain could catch up and then it was in her pocket.
When her mother returned to the table she should have noticed.
But maybe her tendency to ignore the little girl transferred over to other things when they were together as well.
They finished the meal.
What they taught her finally came in handy, the computers they had drilled her on made it shockingly easy to copy an ID.
The little girl made a copy of the one ID that opened every door in the facility.
Every door in.
Every door out.
Every door between her and everything.
Everyone.
She returned the original badge to her mother's room.
Kept the copy tucked into the back of her desk drawer for almost a year.
Never using it.
Not even looking at it.
Not until her 13th birthday.