I tried to untangle our hands, but she only released one and led me back the way we came, toward my airped. Everything I said was true, but the most important reason I’d stopped her from killing the men was that I didn’t want it to be all media news. “Daughter of Jin Kills Two Thugs in a Dark Alley” would be sensationalized and blasted for weeks across all news outlets: on buildings, in helmet, and all over the undernet. My false identity would come under heavy scrutiny. Our mission wouldn’t be at risk—it’d be over. And if my and my friends’ true identities were somehow leaked, my friends would be jailed for life.

But I’d be put to death. I had no doubt of that. I knew it when I agreed to kidnap Daiyu on my own.

“Jason,” she said. Her tone, quiet and urgent, stopped me. “I don’t ever want to hurt anyone. But after what happened to me . . . I have to protect myself. I’ve no choice.”

I nodded, letting her know that I understood, though my helmet didn’t move. The dark, damp walls seemed to loom inward. Oppressive.

“It’s us versus them,” she said.

I almost flinched.

“But it shouldn’t be like that,” she whispered.

I began walking again, heart thumping hard against my rib cage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to call a limo?” I asked once more and pressed her hand to ground myself.

Nobody’s dead. Daiyu remembered nothing. And I’m still Jason Zhou. For now.

“No,” she replied. And already, her voice sounded stronger.

I remembered my first mugging on the streets, when I was fourteen. I had fought and survived, bloodied but alive, and hid in a hovel for two days. Too sick with fear and rage to do anything else.

“I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to . . . deal with people right now.” She gave me a sidelong glance. A silent plea.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

By the time we had reached another winding alleyway and turned down it, it felt natural that we were walking hand in hand. It was an easy role to play.

After a long silence, during which Daiyu looked over her shoulder twice into the deserted passageway, she said, “You saved my life. Thank you seems inadequate.”

“I got us into this situation—”

“Do you always carry knives?” Her dark eyes were intense, quick and sharp in her pale face behind the glass helmet.

“Yes,” I replied, thinking fast. “I won first place for the knife-throwing competition back at Berkeley. Twice.”

“You did?” She sounded more dubious than amazed. “That’s a thing?”

It was now. I sent a message to Lingyi via thought command to make sure she planted the necessary fake photos and undernet posts to back my lie. “Sure. I’m hurt you’re not more impressed.”