LEILA . . When it was time for lunch, later that day, the maid came in, her usual quiet presence a familiar part of the routine. Just as she was about leaving. She placed the tray on the small table, a simple meal, bread, some cold cuts, a piece of fruit. Just as she was about leaving, turning her back to slide the door shut, Misa gave the smallest, almost imperceptible nod. My heart leaped into my throat, a sudden, violent flutter. My hand shot out while the movement felt so fast and in a more desperate way, grabbing the dull silver knife from the breakfast tray. It wasn't sharp, not like a real weapon, but it would look convincing enough. The maid paused, alerted by my sudden movement, and started to turn back. Before she could fully face me, I was behind her. My arm w

