Just as we exited, three more patrol cars pulled in. Tires squealing, they formed a rough ring centered on the doorway. As the cops began piling out of their vehicles, movement in the air above caught my eye. A stairway was lowering out of midair, a dark figure balanced on the stairs. The figure pointed something and the cops began dropping.

The last remaining cop looked around for the source of the attack, and glanced upward. He just had time for “What the f—” before he too dropped to the ground.

A couple of random customers stood rigid in front of the store, having watched the whole scene unfold. One pointed at the figure in the air, now clearly identifiable as Patrick, but said nothing.

Patrick turned to them and waved his disruptor. Two customers bolted. The rest just stood there, looking stupefied as the disembodied stairway settled to the ground nearby, Patrick standing near the bottom on lookout. He sprinted up the stairs to the vestibule and we followed. Within moments, the stairway had retracted.

“That went well,” Patrick commented dryly. “Good spycraft. I don’t think anyone noticed you.”

“Yeah, funny thing. Turns out there’s a price on our heads. Ten grand.” I rubbed my forehead as I pressed the top-floor button in the elevator.

“Fuck,” Patrick said. “My parents will be going crazy.”

“Mine too,” I replied. “We need to let them know we’re all right.” I dropped the bags onto the conference table and threw myself into a chair.

“I can send them a text or email,” Sheldon said out of midair. “You’ll have to compose something appropriate, then forward it to me. I will transmit the messages from a suitably innocuous cell region.”

“Well the good news, anyway,” Patrick said, rifling through one of the bags, “is that you managed to get Cheetos.”

Nat gave him an eye roll. “Glad we could satisfy your cravings, Patrick.”

Once we got to the ready room, I took out my phone and started typing. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Nat and Patrick doing the same. A small part of my mind wondered how Nat would handle the situation. Presumably, she was writing to her aunt, but that would carry the additional burden of asking the woman to keep caring for Nat’s father. Not a small ask.

I was finished in minutes. I read it over.

Mom, Dad—

I’m sure you’ve seen our names and faces plastered on the TV, and I’m sure you’re worried and wondering what’s going on. Believe me, whatever they’re accusing us of is BS. This is a case of wanting something we have and doing anything they can to get it. Think Will Smith, Enemy of the State.