n. A wave of neurological pain-the Storm-crashed over him. It started at the base of his skull, a sta

breathing through his nose.

e of the house, usually his s

on the console. The video of th

ere was a dissonance to her, a friction between who she pretende

oyer had picked up a trace. A

highlighted the dat

otential: High. Corti

nd. He imagined the warmth of it. For a split second, looking at her, the sta

chor. A mute button for

aspy. He typed a command into the

swing. She tossed the empty thermal bag o

right spot in this hellhole, wearing a t-shirt with a cart

her eyes scanning her for injuries. "

before pulling out a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. "He tipped," she said, offering Penny the bill

ight of the twenty, let alone t

n freezer. The heavy door thudded shut, cutting off the kitchen noise. The sud

lace is bad news. They call the owner the Ghost. Girls go into the Zone fo

aya asked, feigning n

ians. He owns the police. He's... wrong. My cousin deliver

ded slow

g at her shoes. "My mother... the med

. The "sick mother" car

hugged her tight. "Okay. But if you're ever late, even five

pang of genuine guilt. She was u

Wong's voice was muffled

back into the heat, but her mi

in the kitchen whirred to

g his sharp, pale features. He wasn't hungry. But the craving

into the deliv

uest: The

foyer via his console. Dimmer. More intimate.

mouse," he whispere