“What’s so funny?” Theo asked, getting back into the car.

“Just Twitter,” Kai replied, noting Theo’s soaked brow. The heat was already getting to him.

He started the engine and waved to Zed and Apollo, who were parked a few feet away. Zed’s lights flashed in response, and moments later, they were on Old National, heading north toward Sol’s Waffle House. Kai gazed out the window, listening to the click of the door lock. She had no illusions about the activity on Old National. She knew about the drugs, the stickups, the prostitution, the shuttered businesses—but it was home, and it annoyed her that Theo kept skittishly relocking the car door. He had been driving to this side of town for years, but he still treated it like some kind of postapocalyptic wasteland. And he still thought a locked car door could keep him from danger. Dumbass. Kai sighed as they approached World Changers Church.

Right on cue, Theo turned down the music and launched into his routine tirade against Creflo Dollar, the church’s founder. “I hate that damn dome! I just don’t get why people go there. He has ‘dollar’ in his name, and he has a fucking record company. He’s like the P. Diddy of an alternate universe, except instead of selling Ciroc, he sells Jesus. He literally pimps Jesus! And look where his home base is. He makes money off black people and presents himself as our savior at the same damn time!”

Kai chuckled. Theo had said “at the same damn time.” Even though he still had a settler’s naive fears, he was steadily becoming an Atlantan. She could do without the rant, though—everybody pimps Jesus, to be honest.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the Waffle House parking lot. It was completely empty except for a bicycle. Waffle House was the premiere breakfast spot, but not at breakfast hours.

“Welcome to Waffle House!” shouted Sol’s coworkers as Zed, Theo, Kai, and Apollo slid into a corner booth. Instinctively, they wiped their sections of the table before placing their phones on its surface. Waffle House served syrup on tap and on tabletops.

Sol emerged from the bathroom and immediately greeted them. “Ayyy, it’s my favorite crew, the Celestials!” she announced to the empty restaurant. “And Apollo,” she added.

“Solara, it’s not my fault you were named after a shitty Toyota instead of a car people actually like,” Apollo retorted, catching her shade and throwing his own. Sol blankly stared at him. She’d spent a year in juvenile, so insults, even ones that should have at least left a dent, simply bounced off her. Apollo should have known better, Kai thought. He’d probably sat on that comeback for months too. Damn shame. It was actually pretty clever.

“Need some water?” Sol asked, addressing the table, but looking at Apollo.

“Yeah, we’ll take some,” Kai told her, admiring Sol’s audacity as she walked behind the counter, confident despite her frumpy uniform. Sol had always been honest, but juvie had amplified that honesty tenfold. Sol never talked about what happened while she was locked up, but it wasn’t hard to guess. She had come back with chiseled arms, broad shoulders, muscular thighs, and an attitude to match. She could escalate situations as easily as she could flex a muscle. Yet she wasn’t visibly intimidating. Far worse, her game was selective intimidation. She never wore her gun on her hip; she just brandished it whenever she wanted to shoot, which was often when Apollo was around.