She climbed out of her tent and slipped past the giant blue tarp that protected her from the elements, LA’s glittering night skyline greeting her. Mo listened to the hum of cars whizzing by, the frenzied tone of two junkies arguing in the distance. Most people were unsettled by Skid Row’s soundtrack, but Mo found the chaos comforting.

“You okay?” a voice asked. Mo turned to see Vic standing by his tent, a few feet from hers, sucking on a Marlboro. Despite the late hour, Vic always sensed when Mo needed his counsel.

“You’re such a sweet boy. I’m doing much better now that I’ve seen you,” Mo said. He half smiled, which Mo considered a win. Vic was massive, almost six foot six, barrel-chested, with tribal tattoos covering his entire upper body and most of his face. His appearance was so off-putting that most people wouldn’t even get close to him. This isolation made Vic sullen and angry. With time and patience, Mo had gained his trust and Vic had blossomed. He was her most treasured confidant.

“Want to walk?” she asked. He nodded, and wordlessly led her across the street and down an alley. They fell in step, dodging heaping piles of trash, dog shit, and hypodermic needles as they did a loop around the block.

The situation that had occurred was unfortunate. Ash was never supposed to be there tonight. Eli’s punishment wasn’t any of Ash’s business. From what Mo had gathered when Nate returned, they were dealing with a potential crisis. She didn’t need some hysterical child ruining what she’d built. Nate assured Mo that everything would be okay. The last thing she wanted to do was to question his loyalty. He was a newer addition to the family, a sweet kid. She tried not to play favorites, but over the course of the last year, Mo had developed a real fondness for him. He was so thoughtful and caring, a substantial, unwavering presence, always eager to read and debate, and a talented musician. When he had come to Mo and said he’d met someone, she wanted to be supportive. “Tell me all about her.”

Ordinarily effusive, Nate had hunched his shoulders ever so slightly. He leaned in closer as if he were confessing a shameful secret. “She’s not one of us,” he said.

Mo had gone quiet, surprised he would find someone who hadn’t embraced their home-free lifestyle. “Where does she live?” Mo had asked.

“In Silver Lake. With her foster mother. We met when Ash was living on the streets, but we got separated. We just ran into each other again a few weeks ago. I care about her… a lot. Of course I want your blessing to keep seeing her.”

Nate was smart enough to know that bringing someone around and allowing them to be a part of the group was a decision that required a great deal of care and concern. If anyone told the cops about them, they might start asking questions or making inquiries about their living situation. “As long as you’re careful. Not everyone will understand what we’ve built here.”