As for the boots, good ones were something bright to hope for, every time I went out. Always a chance those my-size hip-waders would float right into my hands on the outgoing tide. But not that night. My pick sack hung limp at my back and the dark streets seemed scoured of anything worth taking.

But you can’t just give up. Show up empty before the end of shift and you’ll find yourself begging a friend for a meal chit. So I kept on. I was prodding my pry-bar into the trunk of a burnt-out taxi when I spotted a glow up ahead. That made me go still and quiet—and douse my headlamp. ’Cept for the collapsed squat, this was a famously deserted sector, and I’d bypassed the nearest known den back on 16th.

I recalled Grace’s news about trouble uptown. Or . . . oh crap, if there was weather coming, it could be Storm Worshippers! The latest wacko sect, pledged to a hurricane goddess and reputedly into human sacrifice. Rubio scoffed at the rumors, and I’d yet to run into any, but out there alone, the prospect scared me silly.

But I was improving at panic control. I managed to keep my head. Like, Stormies meant bonfires. That cool, steady glow was no bonfire. And Stormies supposedly did this ferocious chanting you could hear blocks away.

I listened till my earlobes ached. Nothing.

Smart move was a quick retreat. But here’s where things changed. First time in my short memory, I did not turn tail. Sure, my body coiled to run, but my brain held back. Like the tender inside-out skin I’d worn since the Wave had finally turned right-side-in. Like I’d grown a bit of shell. I felt . . . not whole, not strong, not even confident, but . . . ready to let curiosity lead me. You’ll think, no big deal, but it was, because I moved toward the glow instead of away from it.

You didn’t have to go uptown to know artificial light still reigned in the drier heights of the Island. Lots of solar and wind, biofuel generators, tidal turbines, even a few working power lines. But down here in the flooded Dark, anyone making power should be rationing it this time of night. If the light had been moving, like uptown joyriders out to crack some downtown heads, I’d have split for sure, but . . . if there was news to take home, it could be worth as much as a good night’s picking.

Knowledge is power, Rubio was fond of saying, and I had so little of both. So I hauled my new nerve up around me and crept ahead, shadow to shadow, rubble pile to rubble pile.