Cage snarled, and I shoved him between the shoulder blades. “Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.” I glared at him until he backed down. The woman had pissed me off too, but we needed her help. We could get mad about it later.

Cage’s grip tightened around my hand. “Don’t move from this spot.”

Bolts of anger prickled my spine. “I’m not your sister, Cage. And neither of us needs you ordering us around.”

“I know.” He visibly forced himself to let go of my hand. “Sorry. I’m just . . . this place makes me nervous, that’s all.”

I regarded him for a moment. Some of his bravado peeled away, leaving the boy I’d gotten to know on Sanctuary. The bond between us surged suddenly, and I saw my own fear reflected in my eyes. He didn’t mean the market, or Géxià. He meant Obsidian itself: its resemblance to Sanctuary, and all the memories that came with it.

It was that, more than his high-handed commandments, that made me nod. “I’ll be here waiting,” I told him.

He sighed in obvious relief and raised a hand toward me. It hovered between us as if he might lay it on my shoulder, maybe hug me. But then it dropped to his side. “Be careful,” he said, and turned to the guards. “All right. Take me to Géxià.”

Cage followed the woman through the doorway, leaving me alone with the stocky man, who promptly folded his arms over his chest and ignored me.

I shrugged and moved away. In spite of my annoyance with Cage’s orders, I had no intention of wandering around by myself. This place triggered my fight-or-flight instinct on every level. I was equal parts curiosity and terror. Omnistellar hadn’t prepared me for the real world in any way. Or maybe, Omnistellar had been my real world, my only world, and had expected to remain so. They hadn’t needed to prepare me for anything else. Even without the vivid memories of alien pursuit Obsidian conjured, it would have overwhelmed me with its sheer realness.

The marketplace was straight out of Robo Mecha Dream Girl 5. I mentally relived Yukiko’s journeys into the slums of Nuokyo, seeking her strength and courage. Of course, she had a mech suit and a childhood of ninja training to protect her, while I had only my anonymity and background as a prison guard. That meant submission holds and ways to endure until backup arrived, not skills I thought would help me here.

But no one seemed to notice me. They went about their business buying and selling, arguing, laughing, living. These might be criminals, but they were also families, people. For a prison guard, someone who’d spent her whole life in the system, I knew very little about the illegal world. It was a sobering reflection.

A hand ghosted along my arm, barely registering in the throng of people.

But I definitely noticed the moment my wrist monitor popped out of its slot.