Rubio roused, sharp as an angry bird, stoking a snarl I knew he’d regret. I nudged him quiet. The watch dude was old and half-cracked, but he was usually cool, so you had to wonder what’d got into him. Likely, weather on the way. I felt it, too, an itch I couldn’t scratch, ever since my tumble in Abel’s Wave. That night, I could barely sit still.

“Don’t jump!” Plastic soles clomped on the boards behind us as Big Grace and Rivera pulled up laughing beside us at the rail.

“Might be for the best,” Rubio muttered hoarsely.

Grace was tall as Rubio, muscular and often loud. When he called her the Amazon, she’d grin like it was a compliment, though he swore she didn’t get the reference. I only did ’cause he’d told me.

Rivera, Grace’s opposite, flared delicate nostrils at the heavy air. “A real shit night.”

Grace elbowed in next to Rubio. “There’s talk of another coup uptown.”

This perked him up. “What sector?”

“Inwood.”

He frowned. “That’s one of the stable co-ops.”

“Only thing permanent is change.” Grace’s blond matched my own pale chop, but her long braid dropped out the back of her street cap like a tow rope. She and Rivera were rarely seen apart, spawning rumors they were an item. But Grace had a clear eye for the guys, so who knew? “The intel’s not clear. Something going on.”

“Just let it stay up there,” murmured Rivera. “Where you all headed?”

Rubio coughed and spat, watched it drop into the water. “West Forties.”

Gracie showed well-nourished teeth. “I got Broadway and 15th.”

“Dog! So close!”

“And dry all the way.”

“Mine’s the lamest,” I said. “West Teens.”

“Why bother? Picked over long ago!” Rivera wound her dark braid up under her cap—out of grab range, like we were taught. She was careful—well, we all were, but Rivera always played it by the book.

I sighed. “They say new stuff’s washing in since the last blow.”

“Then let them go find it,” Gracie snorted. “The river’s as freaky as a cut snake over there. Never know where it’ll be next.”

I nodded, like snakes were my lot in life. Not all dens picked at night. A few didn’t pick at all. But ours ran day and night, so there we were, four sorry pickers in dirt-colored street gear, staring down at the water’s dark mirror as if waiting for a sign.

The watch dude rattled his torch again. Sparks flew past our noses.

Gracie hauled her boots up tight and shoved away from the rail. “Might as well.”

Rubio nodded. “Might as.”

“Watch yourselves.”

“Always do.”

We adjusted our headlamps, our pale third eyes. The walkways kept us dry till pavement showed at Third and 15th. From there, we went our separate ways.