Bright light seared through the sheer curtains.
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She pushed herself even further into the back corner and clutched the paper to her chest.
The megaphone blared violence. "This is the security division of sector 27b-6. We know you are in there. Open this door immediately."
She could see their silhouettes illuminated up against the window like some macabre puppet show. The city had privatised it's police force years ago, long before she was born, so these 'security contractors' were the closest thing they had to law and order. Hired thugs.
Dust motes drifted through the harsh beam of light which cut the apartment in two. She opened her hand, looked down at the paper and the woman smiled back at her. She had found it in amongst the rubbish of the salvage yard - a relic from the old world. She still doesn't know why she didn't report it; why she slipped it into her pocket. They must have caught her during the CCTV review.
Angling it towards the light she read it again: "15 fun things to do with leftover egg boxes". The picture of the woman smiled up at her. So kind. So gentle. She wondered what eggs were and the door flew off its hinges.