![]() ![]() My neighbor, Eddie Briggs, paled when he realized who he’d just objectified. I turned sharply on the balls of my feet. Just as I rounded the corner, I heard a high-pitched you’re-looking-good whistle. The hallway was a broad opening into an expansive sunlit lobby that left nothing to obstruct my vision. My steps clipped and frantic, I strode inside the building. An hour later, I eased into my building’s parking lot. I drove north for half an hour, and had almost given up finding a familiar road when New Chicago’s skyscrapers rose ahead, above the horizon. I snatched the car phone and said, “Jack Pagosa, A.I.R.,” into the speaker. The squeal of thick tire tread filled my ears as I sped away. The garage door opened automatically and the car jolted into motion. As she sprinted away, I programmed in the coordinates to my apartment. “Pren,” she shouted, and the engine hummed instantly to life. ![]() I banged my hand on the hood in frustration. I approached the far SUV, the one with chains on the tires, low mileage, and turbocharge. Thankfully, there was no sign of Kyrin’s return. I raced back outside, dragging her with me as I retraced my steps to the garage. Her body trembled, but she didn’t try to fight me. I grabbed her by the upper arm and hefted her up. A few minutes later, I found a young woman hiding in a cubbyhole under the kitchen floor. ![]()
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