He pushed open the back door and walked into the cool evening air. Twelve years ago, before the Break, there would have been electric lights all over the city, so bright they blotted out the stars, but tonight the sky was filled with twinkling constellations. Marcus looked up at them, breathing deeply, pointing out the few he remembered from school: Orion was the easiest, with his belt and his sword, and there was the Big Dipper. He closed one eye and traced the handle with his finger, looking for the North Star.

“You’re going the wrong way,” said a girl’s voice, and Marcus jerked in surprise.

“I didn’t realize anyone was out here,” said Marcus, hoping he hadn’t looked too stupid when he jumped. He turned to see who it was, wondering suddenly who would be hiding in Xochi’s backyard, and yelped in terror when a woman stepped out of the shadows with an assault rifle. He stumbled backward, trying to find his voice—trying just to process the unexpected appearance—and the woman held her finger to her lips. Marcus backed into the side of the house, steadying himself against the wall. The gesture, and the gleaming gun barrel, caused him to close his mouth.

The girl stepped forward, smiling like a cat. Marcus could see now that she was younger than he’d surmised at first—she was tall and slender, her movements full of power and confidence, but she was probably no more than nineteen or twenty years old. Her features were Asian, and her jet-black hair was pulled back in a tight braid. Marcus smiled back at her nervously, eyeing not only the rifle but the pair of knives he now saw clipped to her belt. Not one knife—a pair of knives. Who needs two knives? How many things does she have to cut at once? He was in no hurry to find out.

“You can talk,” said the girl, “just don’t scream or call for help or anything. I’d prefer to get through the evening without running—or, you know, killing anybody.”

“That’s great news,” said Marcus, swallowing nervously. “If there’s anything I can do to keep you from killing anybody, you just let me know.”

“I’m looking for someone, Marcus.”

“How do you know my name?”

She ignored the question and held out a photo. “Look familiar?”

Marcus peered at the photo—three people standing in front of a building—then held out his hand to take it, looking at the girl for permission. She nodded and held it closer, and he took it from her hand, holding it up to the starlight. “It’s kind of—”

She flicked on a small flashlight, training it on the image. Marcus nodded.