" embrace. “My ribs,” Donald hissed. “Watch my arm,” his sister said. She untangled herself and stepped back, and Donald was about to ask her what was wrong with her arm, but she pressed a finger to her lips. “Hurry,” she said. “This way.” Donald peered past her to the man in the doorway. The guard gazed up and down the hallway, was more concerned about someone coming than about him or his sister escaping. The "

― Hugh Howey , Dust (Silo, #3)