“So, you’re now…what do they call it? First son?”

“Yeah, uh, I guess so.”

“First son and first person to leave the Q. You’ll be famous.” She tilted her head. “I guess you already are famous. More famous?”

His stomach lurched. More famous did not sound like a good time. He already hated the media attention, the way the tabloids twisted stories about him to sound as salacious as possible.

She was giving him a curious look, and he forced a smile.

“That’s me. First and famous.”

MAISIE

THE SECOND NEIGHBORHOOD they entered was similar to the first. It was mostly new structures, which fit with what Maisie knew about the north. The aerial maps showed that the north had destroyed a lot more of the pre-zone buildings than the south had. It seemed like a dumb use of resources to Maisie. She’d sat in meetings with her dad while the Lopezes discussed construction, and everyone had always been in favor of using existing structures wherever possible.

There were more people on the streets in this town, though. A lot of the shops were still open, and people walked casually down them, some of them swinging bags. That seemed like a good sign.

She felt a hand slip into hers—her good hand—and she jumped, almost pulling it away. Lennon tugged her a little closer, nodding at something ahead.

It was another man dressed in all black. They must have been some kind of police force for the area.

“Let’s go this way,” she said, ducking into an alleyway.

He glanced over his shoulder as they walked. The man continued down the street, swinging his Taser, and then disappeared from view.

She released his hand, encountering a tiny bit of resistance when she did, like he’d intended to keep it. His skin had been warm against hers, and she almost wished she’d waited to see if he’d pull away first.

She stuffed her good hand into her pocket, rolling her eyes at herself. Her last boyfriend was Declan, and clearly that had been the wrong choice. Now she was imagining holding hands with Fancy-pants from the other side of the wall. She was nothing if not consistent in her bad dating choices.

She looked over her shoulder again. The officer was at the end of the street, watching them.

“Shit,” she murmured. Lennon followed her gaze. They both picked up the pace.

“Do we stand out somehow?” he asked. “Why do they keep finding us?”

They turned a corner, and she took a quick glance around. The clothes were varied, so that wasn’t it.

Her gaze caught on something glinting in the bright streetlights. It was a large silver pendant on a chain around the neck of a woman rushing past. And on the guy next to her. And everywhere else Maisie looked.

“It’s the necklace,” she said. Maybe that was the “permit” the last cop had been talking about. Some kind of ID chip embedded in the piece of jewelry.