“I don’t know what game you’re playing”—the guy clears his throat—“but I want no part of it. Get out. Get out of here. Don’t let me see you do this again.”

“Oh, thank you, sir,” I gush. “Thank you.”

Logan coughs again, and he takes another step back, opening enough of an escape route for the two of us. And we run. I grab Logan’s arm and pull her along with me. She’s still holding on to the backpack, and when the guy notices that, he roars. “Leave the backpack! Thieves!”

“Sorry!” I shout, feeling weirdly giddy. “I wasn’t lying about the food!”

We dash out of the store, dodging rubble and shelves and torn boxes. Logan lets go of my hand, and she swings the backpack on her back. She’s quick, and she motions for me to follow her. It’s our speed that saves us, I’m sure. It takes the store guy a second or three to realize what’s happening, and by the time he’s screaming at us, we’re already halfway through the door.

From there, Logan takes the lead. She guides us away from the store and into a narrow side road, so even if the guy follows us, we won’t be in his immediate line of sight.

Another corner, another side road. Past half a dozen homes with white marks on their front doors. Past a church where light is burning inside and the lawn is covered in tiny wooden crosses. Some with colored yarn or fabric knotted around them, others with necklaces and bracelets draped over them, still others that are painted in bright colors—even if the painting seems childish at times. Another road. All the way until we’re deep in a residential area and I’m the one to call for a halt. “Logan! Give me a moment to catch my breath.”

She skitters to a halt, but she keeps glancing around us like she expects someone else to get the jump on us. I rest my hands on my knees and struggle to catch my breath.

Logan pulls at my sleeve and indicates her head.

“I know.” I gulp a breath. “We have to keep going. How come you’re in better shape than I am, anyway?”

She grins, and the backpack bounces on her shoulders.

It reminds me: “You found food! I could kiss you!”

She immediately takes a step back, and I can’t help it. I laugh. It feels weird and uncomfortable, like my muscles have forgotten how, but it makes me feel lighter too. It makes me feel more human.

Food. We have food.

Logan’s eyebrows pull together in a frown, her nose scrunched up in a way that’s adorable.

“I won’t actually kiss you,” I say. “But whatever made you decide to come here… I’m glad.”

Logan starts walking again, head down, and apparently incapable of waiting around any longer. But she extends her arm and points at her wrist. Her hands flap, and it’s a comforting sight.

Emerson. Of course. “You thought you could find better drugs?”