Beside her, the little boy puffed to a stop. He smelled like overripe fruit. A thick trail of snot hung from his nose.

“Hey, Mistletoe, where you been?”

“Come on,” she said, grabbing the soft flesh of his upper arm.

“Ow! What’re you doing—that hurts!”

She marched him around the corner and stopped behind a surprisingly green and healthy row of bushes. She pocketed the stunner and held him against the wall.

“W-what—”

“Listen to me, Shampoo. You didn’t see me here. You don’t know what happened to me, but I’m not around anymore. I left Little Saigon for good. Nobody knows where I went. Got it? Nod one time if you think you got it.”

His eyes filled with tears. Mistletoe thought of the little bird that had fallen in front of her scoot. How tiny and delicate.

“Just friending nod, Shampoo.”

He nodded frantically. Tears ran down his face, snaking pale, clean lines through the dirt. She let him go. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, leaving a smeary mess.

“Here,” she said. “Let me.” She reached with the corner of her sleeve, but he ducked out of the way and ran into the crowded street. She fought the urge to chase him down and explain that right now was a dangerous time to be her friend. They were both better off if he was simply afraid of her without knowing why.

She turned the corner and flattened herself against the wall of the abandoned florist. The topside cop who’d chased them before—the one with the hat—was holding the door open for his partner, Red. She curled up into a ball. Just another subcanopy urchin, sleeping in the street.

She opened one eye and watched as the cops melted into the crowd. Shampoo might have saved her life: she hadn’t counted on two people being inside, and if they’d opened the door to find her waiting, she’d have been overmatched, despite her weapon.

She imagined the little boy huddled in some alley, wondering why the girl who’d always been so kind to him had suddenly turned vicious. Stay away from me, she thought. I’m not who you think I am.

I’m not even who I thought I was.

When the cops had been out of sight for a few minutes, she sat up and scanned the crowd. No familiar faces. At the door of the junk shop, she tried the handle. Hat and Red had locked it behind them. Next to the door was a square panel, slightly darker than the rest of the wall. She slid it aside. A keypad blinked to life. She entered Jiri’s password, then placed her thumb against a small glass plate. Jiri may have been a lonely, secretive man, but he trusted her with his shop.

The door clicked and she slipped inside, where she promptly froze and waited for the horrible skittering to stop. The place was infested with cockroaches that scattered in every direction whenever a human interrupted their party. She hoped they’d freaked out the cops, at least.