I grip the railing. The wood creaks under my hand.
“Good night, Evie.”
I leave through the bakery, locking the rear door behind me. Rain waits outside, cold and clean against the blood on my hands. Halo’s alleys stretch in every direction, full of threats I understand and shadows that ask nothing from me. I should feel steadier out here.
I do not.
I walk until Sweet Tooth’s blue sign is only a flicker behind me, then I stop beneath the broken transit awning and look back through the rain.
I tell myself I will not go there tomorrow. I will not sit at her counter. I will not let her place food before me and smile as if I am welcome. I will not listen to her make jokes through pain and pretend the sound does not lodge under my ribs.
I will stay away because that is the safest thing I can do for her.
But even as I turn toward the tunnels, I know the truth.
The men in the alley feared me because they saw a weapon.
Evie thanked me because she saw a man.
I do not know which of them is more dangerous.
CHAPTER 5
EVIE
Morning finds every bruise on my body awake before I am.
The apartment above Sweet Tooth is dim and gray, with rainlight pressing softly through the curtains and turning the whole room the color of old pewter. The radiator clicks under the window. Somewhere below me, the bakery settles with its usual small noises, wood expanding, pipes ticking, the refrigeration unit humming like it resents responsibility. My mouth tastes like sleep, pain meds, and copper. My ribs ache each time I breathe too deeply, and the left side of my face feels swollen enough that I half expect to roll over and find it has become a separate tenant with its own utility bill.
I open one eye.
Nara is asleep in the chair beside the sofa, chin tucked to her chest, medical bag near her feet, one hand still curled around her compad as if she planned to lecture me even in unconsciousness. She came over like a storm last night, poked my pupils, cleaned blood off my face, sealed the little cut near my hairline, and threatened to have me sedated if I so much as looked at the bakery keys.
Naturally, the bakery keys are on the table beside me.
I reach for them slowly.
My ribs object immediately.
“Oh, shut up,” I whisper.
Mira’s eyes open. “Touch those keys and I’ll break your fingers in a medically informed way.”
I freeze with my hand halfway to the table. “Good morning to you too.”
“No.”
“That is not a greeting.”
“It is the answer to whatever stupid thing your face is planning.”
“My face is swollen and innocent.”
“Your face is plotting capitalism while concussed.”
“I do not have a concussion. You said mild suspected concussion.”
“I said that so you wouldn’t argue.”
