The electric net flashes three more times and fizzles away, leaving Frank and Harding limp on the floor, tangled together. I swallow, staring at them, willing them to breathe. But they will, of course they will. The net doesn’t kill people, just incapacitates them.

I stare at Frank’s chest, consider going closer to check on him. But my feet are glued to the floor.

My heart pounds in my skull, and my eyes water from staring so intently.

Frank takes a deep, gasping breath, but doesn’t regain consciousness.

I find my own breath, bending double at the waist and panting until the pounding in my head stops.

“Kyla, are you all right?” Melly asks over the tannoy system.

“No, I don’t know what to do…” Is Melly connected to the wardens? Will her protocols force her to report me for this?

No, no, of course they won’t. Frank would never have been able to serve the abandoned for this long if Melly reported to the wardens.

I smack my cheeks to shake some sense into myself. “Think, Kyla, think.”

“Might I suggest something?” Melly asks.

“Sure.” I doubt there’s anything that Melly can do for me, but at least if she’s talking, I don’t have to listen to Harding and Frank gasping on the floor. Finally able to move my feet, I stumble into the store cupboard to gather some supplies.

“If you check in Frank’s office, there are some contact details there that you may find useful.”

“Oh?” Composure; three of the little bottles. I stuff them into my apron hurriedly.

“Yes, he told me to inform you should you ever be in this kind of situation.”

“Okay, just give me a second.” Luck… But the bottles are four litres, much too big. I’ll never be able to sneak it out, and I probably don’t have the time to decant it. I open the lid and chug a mouthful of it neat. It’s not a great idea to mix syrups, but I’m in a unique situation.

I make my way back to Frank’s office, carrying the enormous bottle with me and taking another sip or two of Luck.

The office is a mess—papers lie scattered all over Frank’s desk, and the monitors for the CCTV are showing nothing but static.

Thankyou, Frank.

At least there’s no evidence of what I just did on camera. I’ll have to trust Frank with the rest, so long as he forgives me for electrocuting him…

“Where am I looking, Melly?”

“Filing cabinet two; top drawer; supplier details.”

I yank open the top drawer of the steel filing cabinet, and flip my way through the filing system, from one tab to the next, scanning each one. Deliveries…. Purchasing… Human Resources…

“Suppliers! Okay, what’s the name?”

“Lena, Lena Stewart.”

“I hope your filing system is up to date, Frank…” I flick through the file, looking for the right section. Nichols… Phillips…

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“Stewart. Got it.”

I lift out the manilla folder and open it, but there isn’t any paperwork inside. Just an index card. I take it out and hold it in both hands.

“Are you sure this is the right file, Melly?”

“Positive.”

I read the card again, turn it over, but none of it makes any sense to me. There’s just one word scrawled in orange ink: Blessed.

“There’s some activity on the street, Kyla,” Melly says. “You need to leave through the back before the wardens get here.”

Sure enough, there are voices on the road outside, calling Harding’s name. Evidently, the warden who chased after my customer has returned.

I scramble, carrying the bottle of Luck back to the storeroom and emptying it on the floor along with the bottle Harding made me spill. I find the empty Composure bottle I drank earlier and take it to the counter. Bending down, I pump Blessed into it, listening to the approaching voices.

One, two, three pumps…

“Harding! Where are you?” Radio static. An annoyed snort of frustration.

Four, five pumps, and the orange syrup overflows over my hands. I screw the top shut and keep the bottle in my fist.

“Go, Kyla,” Melly says quietly. “Quickly!”

A shadow passes over the front windows. I squat low and crab walk my way to the back door, opening it as quietly as possible. As I sidestep out to the back alley, I hear Harding’s partner shout inside the cafe.

“Harding! Shit! Who’s in here? I’m calling backup!”

Once I’m clear of the door, I plant my feet and push away, sprinting down the back alleys and away from Emotiv as fast as I can. I stumble near a haphazard stack of rubbish bins, toppling one over with an ear-splitting clang.

So much for stealth.

The darkening alley is deserted, stretching hundreds of feet ahead.

I pick up the pace until my legs scream from the effort. If I can just get to the end of the alley before they reach the back door, I can turn the corner and get out of sight before they see me.

My legs push faster, harder. I’m still a few hundred feet from the corner.

I blink away the sweat that streams into my eyes, burning at my vision.

I won’t make it.

A door opens, just ahead of me to my left, and a pair of hands reach out and grab my elbow, yanking me backward. I lose my footing and stumble into the fire exit of a ramshackle apartment block, landing hard on the concrete floor. The door slams behind me, and the room goes completely dark.

I lay on my hip, panting loudly. “Who are—”

“Shh.” A hand clamps over my mouth, though I can’t see who it belongs to. In the confusion, my brain tries to calculate the odds that I’m in danger—do I run, fight, or trust this stranger?

They keep their hand in place, but it’s not forceful. Not like someone who was trying to hurt or capture me.

I breathe deep and slow, struggling to get enough oxygen into my lungs, but desperate to stay quiet.

Outside the door, in the back alley, footsteps stomp past us, running the length of the abandoned street before retreating. Another crackle of static sounds in the distance, and the warden mutters something between pants.

We stay silent in the darkness for a few long moments. They take their hand away from my mouth and shuffle away. Now that I’m calmer, I notice a small slither of light peeking in through the crack under the door. The stranger’s feet cast a shadow towards me as they step closer to it and stand against it.

“Okay, we’re safe.” They walk to me again and reach for my arm, clasping me at my wrist while I still clutch the bottle of Blessed.

I stand, allowing them to hold me steady. My legs feel like jelly as the adrenaline fades away.

“Did you dose yourself or something?” the stranger asks. There’s a familiar tone to their voice, though it’s impossible to tell in the dark.

Can I trust them enough to tell them? I bite my lip, wondering what to say.

“If I was gonna hurt you, I’d have already done it, Kyla.” They tug my arm gently and lead me along a corridor. “I need to know what we’re working with.”

I trail my free hand along the wall to keep my balance. “Yeah, I took some Composure. And… Luck.”

They whistle. “Expensive tastes. Good choice. I doubt we’d have pulled off that move there without a little luck on our side.”

I stop short, pulling back on their arm. “Look, before we go any further, I need to know who you are.”

“You can trust me. We need to go.”

“No, I’m sorry. I have to know.”

They sigh. “Damn, you’re a different woman with some Composure in your system. Alright—” a light flares in the corridor, the flickering flame from a lighter. It rises under the stranger’s chin, lighting familiar features. Warm brown skin, long, thick eyelashes, and lips constantly stuck in a knowing smirk.

“Dani!”

“Yeah, who did you think it was gonna be? Now come on, we have to get you out of here.” They put the lighter out and tug me along the corridor again. I stop resisting, allowing them to guide me.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.”