“Home.”
“Need company?”
“I would rather eat glass.”
One of the others whistles. “Mouthy.”
“I get that a lot.”
The doorway smoker pushes away from the wall. He is broader than the others, with a tattoo crawling up his neck and eyes too flat to be drunk. “You know, your little shop sits in our neighborhood.”
“My shop sits in Halo.”
“Halo pays respect.”
“Halo pays rent, taxes, utilities, repair bills, and apparently extra for the privilege of being annoyed by men dressed like rejected album covers.”
His smile thins. “Funny.”
“I’m widely beloved.”
Silver Ear steps closer. “Boss says businesses need protection.”
“From what? You?”
“That’s usually how protection works.”
My mouth is dry now. Fear crawls along my spine, cold and many-legged, but anger rises with it because I am so sick of being squeezed by men who mistake cruelty for ambition.
“You can tell your boss Sweet Tooth is not interested.”
Neck Tattoo tilts his head. “Not interested?”
“That means no. I know vocabulary can be challenging.”
The slap comes so fast I barely see his hand move.
Pain bursts across my cheek, hot and bright. My head snaps sideways, and the world tilts. For an instant, I hear nothing but the rush of blood in my ears and the distant hiss of rain. Then sensation crashes back. My cheek throbs. My eyes water. The men are laughing.
I taste copper.
Something inside me goes very still.
I pull the pepper spray from my pocket and aim for Neck Tattoo’s face. “Touch me again and I’ll melt your eyes shut.”
His laughter stops.
Silver Ear lunges.
I spray wildly. He screams as the chemical hits his eyes, and I run.
My boots skid on wet pavement. My bag slams against my hip. Behind me, shouts explode into pursuit. I do not look back. Looking back wastes time, and I need every second, every breath, every scrap of luck the Precursors feel like throwing atfoolish women who walk home alone in bad neighborhoods after being warned by literally everyone with sense.
I cut down a side street toward Lark, but one of them is faster than I expect. A hand catches my sweater from behind and yanks hard enough to choke me. Fabric tears. I twist and kick backward, connecting with a shin. Someone curses. I break free and stumble forward, lungs burning.
“Grab her!”
The streetlights smear in the rain. My cheek pulses. My breath comes ragged and loud. I reach the mouth of the narrow alley behind the closed tailor shop, the one that connects to the bakery block if I can get through it.
