Rachel stood up from the sticky McDonald's table. Across from her, Jason was on his third double cheeseburger, scarfing it down like he'd never seen food before. They hadn't really eaten much yesterday, but she worried it was more than that. "Here," she said, sliding him some cash. "Get some stuff. Walmart's across the street. I'll meet you in the parking lot."

He wiped his mouth. "Where are you going?"

"To do something nice." She jammed her hair underneath her collar, just to get some of it out of her way. "Can you pick up a hair tie? And bandages for sure."

"I'll take care of it," he said. He eyed her in that uncomfortably watchful way of his. "Are you sure that splitting—"

She stuffed her hands in her hoodie pocket. "Might take me a minute."

Before he could finish his question, she slipped out the store, first jogging down the sidewalk, then twisting across streets. Each turn she came to, she picked the direction with the cracked sidewalks and the smaller buildings, turning one-eighty when she came to luxury stores and swirling letter signs. While tracking and backtracking, advertisements announced that they'd landed in Chicago.

It was a long way from her city, but she figured all cities must be sorta the same at heart.

Rachel wasn't sure when exactly her idea had taken root. Maybe it was when she noticed how, unconsciously, Jason held his wounded arm closer to his side, or how he breathed a sigh of relief when he realized he wasn't going to have to climb the fence. She didn't leave her patients like that if she could do something about it.

Derelict buildings and thin, guarded people began to pass around her. The afternoon sun gleamed bright on graffiti and cleaned out the shadows. A group of boys—her age, or a little older maybe—leaned against a broken down porch, cutting up and cursing each other out. A smile twitched on her lips.

One whistled as she drew closer, and she rolled her eyes at him, hand on her hip. "What?" she sassed. "You don't got anything better to do?"

"Eyyy!" the group called, hitting each other on the shoulders, as if surprised and delighted she was playing their game.

The boy who whistled to her asked, "You got a name, ginger?"

She smirked. "Not one for you."

"She slamming you, man," another boy laughed.

Whistle leaned an elbow on the kid's shoulder. He gave Rachel a tight-lipped, cocky smile that reminded her of Rafe. "Pretty lips like hers can say whatever they like to me."

The compliment set her stomach fluttering the same way a knock at your door when you weren't expecting it does. Warning crept up her spine, a reminder that no matter how much this neighborhood might be like the one she grew up in, it wasn't. These weren't the Lost Boys, who might have each wanted to push things too far but would knock the teeth out of anyone else who tried. She wasn't under Rafe's protection here. Here, she couldn't dangle the someday I might have to save your life reminder in front of their noses and order them back into line.

But she'd come down here to do a thing and she wasn't backing down just because a bored high-schooler flirted with her.

"That so?" She strutted forward, coming close enough to lean on their rail with them. "Well, that mean I can ask anything I like too?"

"You looking for a room to spend the night, babygirl?" Whistle smirked, and some of the other boys snickered. "'Cause if that's what you were gonna ask, I might be able to help you out."

Rachel was glad her hair covered the blush warming the back of her neck. Brows raised, she eyed him like he was an idiot, then slid her eyes off him to some of the other boys. She flicked a ten dollar bill out of her sleeve, holding it between two fingers. "I was wondering if y'all know where the action is around here."

"Hey, now that's offensive." One of the taller boys tapped himself on the chest twice. "You assume just 'cause we live down here, we up to trouble? We ain't into any of that stuff."

He got some smug nods and knowing smirks from the other members of his group backing him up, but Whistle reached out and snagged the five bucks from her fingers. "Come on, babygirl. I'll walk you myself."

The other boys scoffed at him for ruining their game. She searched their faces to see if someone else would take her up on it, but they seemed to have lost their interest. Hopping down the stairs, Whistle put his arm around her shoulders and steered her down the street.

"You don't give a girl much room to breathe, do ya?" Her voice was lighter than she felt. She slipped from under him as they turned the corner.

"Hey, I'm just being a gentleman. An escort, you know?"

"Uh-huh. Where we headed?" she asked.

He wouldn't answer her outright. He led her up one street and down another. The back of her neck itched. She walked at his easy pace but kept her eyes on their turns, each road they took, the people around them. Whistle stayed just a bit too close but didn't touch her again. In her waistband, her gun rubbed uncomfortably against her back.

She was relieved when it was another kid he took her to, a girl sitting on a park bench flicking through her phone. He asked for Rachel's cash, as if to trade with the dealer himself, but she shot him a withering, falsely sweet smile. "I'm a big girl." She handed him another ten for his services and shot him with her eyes: Get lost.

"I thought you might like to celebrate after you got your score." He grinned at her, all teeth and gleaming eyes.

"And I thought you might like to walk away with all the body parts you met me with." She smiled back just as wolfishly.

He faltered, eyes sparking. He started to open his mouth, then scoffed. "Alright, big girl. Alright. You wanna play it that way, alright." His eyes raked over her, up, down. She held her ground even as her stomach curled, glad that her signature baggy clothes covered far more than they showed. "See you around, babygirl."

He scuffed off, but she didn't quite relax, even as he turned the corner out of sight.

"Just here to stand 'round?" the girl on the bench drawled.

"Nah." Rachel glanced one more time down the road after Whistle. Just a few parked cars and an old lady chewing dip on her stoop. Biting her lip, Rachel sat on the bench. "Got any oxy?"

"Not here." The girl blew a bubble of blue gum and kept scrolling her phone.

"Well, how long it'd take you to get some? Straight stuff, nothing cut. Med grade."

The bubble popped. The girl drew back, looking her up and down. "You got the cash for that?"

"How much?"

The girl's lips pursed, calculating. "Goes for three hundred a pop."

"No it doesn't," Rachel snapped. The market in Hampton couldn't be that different from the one here. "I'll do you fifty."

"I gotta go get it," the girl argued like Rachel was an idiot, "and find it too. That's not just floating around."

"It's in every other rich kid's bathroom cabinet." Rachel stood. "But it's no skin off my nose. You're the one gotta tell your boss why you ain't come back today with a sale. I'll go get it from someone else."

"Wait!" Bubblegum called out as Rachel started to walk off. "Fine. Fine. But eighty's low as I can do. Okay?"

Rachel didn't know if that was true, but the girl sounded desperate enough now. A metallic tint touched Rachel's tongue as she sucked on her split lip. How much of a cut did Bubblegum get to keep? And where did she sleep at night?

"Okay," Rachel said. "But I need it soon, right? Like an hour soon."

Bubblegum nodded twice, braids bobbing, and peeled off. Rachel didn't want to take her spot on the bench in case someone thought she was selling too. She went and leaned against a building, hood up, hands in pockets, and waited.

The street was quiet this time of day. A couple people passed the bench, looked around, then kept walking. Every now and then, Rachel heard the old woman down the way spit dip into her cup. Rachel's foot tapped against the cement.

Eventually, Bubblegum came bouncing back. She looked around confused for a second until Rachel stepped out of the mouth of the alley. Rachel glanced around, then discreetly pulled out the bills she'd counted while waiting. Her hand pressed against Bubblegum's. "That's ten-forty."

The girl pulled out her phone to figure out it was worth thirteen pills even, then tapped them out of a little orange bottle. Rachel refrained from commenting on her technique—better to have them prepped in sets ahead of time to count easy, or better yet, to have asked Rachel before how much she going to pay. She pocketed them.

Bubblegum plopped back down on her bench. Rachel started to turn back up the street but paused. "You know," she said, "that that's enough money to get out of the city with, right? You could be gone before anyone knew."

Bubblegum laughed at her, laughed so hard a bit of spit landed on Rachel's face. "You think the city is my problem?"

She was still laughing to herself as Rachel walked away, slow at first, then faster, running, eager to escape the echoes ringing off the close buildings. But the laugh chased her down each street, ringing in her head long after Bubblegum was gone.

Why had Rachel left Hampton? Rafe had hit her; so what? They'd pushed each other around before. Her parents had pushed each other around. People got into arguments all the time, and she'd had a life there: kids to look after, money to be tended, a hideout to keep clean and stocked. Rafe had hit her, and she'd let it run her off. She could hear him mocking her now. "You scared of me, Ray? Where else you gonna go?"

She didn't know. She still didn't know. No matter how hard or far or fast she ran, she didn't know.

She skidded to a stop at a crossroads, out of breath, leaning against a stoplight. She recognized this street from earlier. She was almost to the McDonald's she and Jason had eaten at before. Traffic was starting to pick up for the evening; the sun bore down against the tips of tall buildings. Cars zoomed past. A shadow fell over her, and her neck prickled.

"Where you off to in such a rush, babygirl?" a voice said behind her ear.

Rachel spun, stepping back. A car honked as she just barely missed stepping off the pavement.

Whistle stood at the crossing with her, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin spread across his lips. Dread constricted her gasping lungs. How long has he been following me? And worse—why?

She darted out into traffic. A car screeched as it slammed on its breaks. A horn sounded, and she pushed off someone's hood as another car ground to a stop. Weaving through, she made it to the other side and kept running. A stitch started in her side, but her feet flew underneath her.

Whistle laughed, chasing her like a kid chasing a cat down a deadend. She looked back once. He'd crossed the road too and was gaining on her. She swung around a streetlight, down another road, searching for the golden arches she swore she'd seen earlier. They were gone now, all parking lots and backs of buildings.

She rounded a corner, and her pounding heart shot into her throat. She'd somehow let Whistle herd her into an alley. She turned to run back out when his form filled up the entry. Scrambling back, she tripped over a loose board.

"Babygirl, don't look so scared. I'm a gentleman, remember?"

She fumbled for the gun, fingers tripping over her loose hoodie, over the safety. He strode forward like he had all the time in the world. A soda can rolled beneath her foot. She swung the gun up, catching her balance and her breath. "Stop there."

"Oh, don't be like that," he teased, and she was back in that infirmary with Rafe, him looming over her, that roguish smile she loved and hated taunting her. Don't be like that, he'd said as she'd stumbled back against her operating table. You act like I'd ever hurt you, he'd said as he'd brushed her hair back from her face.

The gun recoiled in her hand. The bullet ricocheted against the pavement. She blinked back to the present to find her aim drooping, not even close. Whistle laughed and lunged forward. She jerked back, and his hand caught and yanked around the hot barrel rather than her wrist.

He cursed, dropping it, and she took off. Jumping over and kicking through trash, she burst onto the other side. A parked box truck loomed up. She darted around it and threw herself beneath.

Breathless curses came up from the alley. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement. They paused. Rachel's lungs heaved, chest pressing against the pavement. She clamped her teeth shut, trying to quiet herself.

The sneakers moved off, around the truck, then away. She melted against the ground and allowed herself a little more air. One hammering breath after another filled her lungs. He's gone, she told herself, and for some reason the face she saw in her mind was Rafe's. He's not here.

Then a hand clasped around her ankle and yanked. Her face scraped against the asphalt. She cried out. Blindly, she lashed out but hit nothing other than air. Rough hands flipped her over and pinned her fists above her head. Hot breath rasped against her bloody cheek. Whistle grinned at her. "That," he said, showing her the growing welts on his right hand, "hurt. Luckily, I'm not the vengeful kind of guy."

Rachel jerked against the one hand pinning her wrists, but his full weight pressed down on them.

"This," he leered, "is where you say thank you."

Rachel spat in his face.

He cursed her out as she struggled to get free. He backhanded her, and her head snapped to the side. Her ears rang. She tried to buck him off. He kneed her in the stomach, cutting off her scream for help. He hit her again, and black burst against her sight.

And then, the man was gone, thrown off her body as a grey bag hit his head. She looked up and found Jason, holding a backpack by the straps. Whistle moaned, laid out on the ground. He pushed up on one elbow. Jason kicked him in the side, and then between the legs. The boy howled and curled up. Panting, Jason kicked him again, and again.

"Jason!" she gasped out.

He spun toward her, breaths heaving. Reaching down, he pulled her to her feet. His wide eyes darted up and down over her. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

Her lungs working double-time was a good excuse not to answer. She struggled to catch her breath as he bustled her away. "Thank you," she gasped out. "Thank you." Her foot slipped on a bit of trash, and he steadied her. She snagged the fallen gun from the alley as they passed it. It felt foreign and awkward in her hand.

Maybe she wouldn't have shot Jason that night in the hotel, no matter what he'd said. Maybe she wouldn't have shot that cop, even if Jason or his freaky weird sister hadn't stopped her. She'd shot at plenty of people, but she'd only ever hit one—Rafe.

Her hand shook, and she thrust the weapon at Jason. She had missed. She had missed when she had every reason to hit. Vulnerability, uselessness, weakness crawled over her skin. They're not toys, Ray, Rafe use to drawl, even as he spun the chamber on his revolver. You pick it up, you better be ready to use it.

She stumbled a pace forward and retched. Jason caught her, and her stomach fought her again. She felt like she was throwing up the last three minutes and the last three years at the same time. Jason murmured words she didn't hear. Her stomach roiled, but there was nothing left for it to give.

His hands were soft and steady on her shoulders. She turned into his chest. He stiffened, words stalling, but after a second, one arm encircled her. Tears flooded her cheeks and soaked his shirt. Embarrassed heat flushed her skin. Her lungs heaved, sobs choking her, no matter that she should have gotten used to this a long time ago, no matter that she'd like to pretend none of this ever happened. She could hear Rafe scolding her now: Crying's for the playground, Ray. And we're not kids anymore.

She thought that was what Jason was saying too: get it together, we've got to go, come on. But as she started choking down her sobs, his words finally penetrated her ear. "Where did he hurt you? Are you okay? What do you need me to do?"

Breaths hiccuped in her lungs, keeping her from answering even though he kept asking. Finally, he tipped her chin back. Her head spun, like no matter how much air she was pulling in, it wasn't enough.

"You're safe, Rachel," he said, eyes wide and worried but voice steady. "I need you to breathe for me. We're here together now, right? You made me promise we'd look out for each other. In through your nose, out through your mouth. We're going to be fine. I'm not going to let anyone else hurt you. Your mouth. Out through your mouth. Slow."

He coached her until her head felt like it settled back on her shoulders. Her nose dripped. She wiped at it roughly with her sleeve. Acid burned in her mouth. She swallowed. "Let's go."

He nodded at her and shot a glance back the way they'd come. He wrapped his good arm around her shoulder, as if to shield her from the boy they'd left behind. Side by side, they walked back out onto the street.