"Get away from there. Move away from the cars."

Sannah looked up from the dark asphalt she had slumped onto. The club doorman glowered at her, blurry through her unshed tears.

"I said move on, Exotic. Don't make me tell you again." His hand moved to his belt.

Sannah blinked and stood up. Her numb legs took her to the street, then around to the front of a big concrete building, out of view of the car-lot and its hostile sentry. She sunk down again, unable to make herself go any further.

How had that first meeting been so different to what she'd imagined? How had she got it so wrong? Did Saint care about—even remember—her at all? Sannah sniffed, and the tears breached, blanching cold as they ran down her cheeks.

She'd been so sure she had a connection to Saint; had felt it so keenly when they were together last year, despite his behaviour. Felt it all those months they'd been apart. Did she feel it now?

No. Yes. No.

Sannah sniffed again, wet and throaty. All she felt was desolate. Empty.

Who was that girl? Was he in love? She was so beautiful, gleaming and sculpted, a flesh-and-bone goddess. Sannah's own hairy mud-splatted legs, splayed out on the grimy pavement, seemed to mock her. Compared to someone like that, how could someone like Sannah ever be enough?

She had to get herself together, go to Faro and Dierdra's, and soon, before it got too late. She couldn't turn up unannounced in the middle of the night, and it must be nearing eleven now. What if they were in bed? She'd have to get them up, maybe wake their kid. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

She'd assumed she would couch with Saint, Sannah admitted to herself. That he'd open the door to that flat back at Rushton street and she'd fall straight into his arms, stay there as long as possible. Turn up at Dierdra and Faro's the next day, contented and dishevelled with love. Not arrive at theirs nearing midnight, tear them out of their bed.

She had to go quickly. So why couldn't she make herself move?

Sannah closed her eyes, trying to block out the streetlights, the indifferent buildings, the dirt and crushing cruelty of Albia. But she could still hear the unending groan of unseen cars, the unknown tragedy of a distant siren, the aggressive, guttural voice of the doorman talking into his screen, round the corner by the club.

She could hear stiletto footsteps from that direction too, and she stiffened. She didn't want anyone to see her. She couldn't stand the disdainful glances. The reminder of what she was, when she was here: not enough.

How had she ever forgotten that?

Sannah stood up hastily, tucked herself against the building, trying to make herself invisible to the people about to reach the street from the club. Could she get away? No, it was too late. They were turning the corner now, and—

Why? Dear God, why?

The goddess girl slunk onto the street, a white fur coat draped over her perfect shoulders. And walking beside her, like a punch to the face, was him.

Sannah turned away, dismay and self-revulsion so thick in her guts it threatened to make her puke. He'd seen her, she was sure.

But no. They walked straight past.

Saint put his arm around the woman's shoulder and she squeezed his slender waist in return, laughing victoriously. Sweet, strong perfume filled Sannah's nostrils. Bile and self-hatred rose in her throat.

Leaning against the cold building, Sannah watched them retreat. Just Saint's back made her feel like her heart might break. His clothes looked newer and cleaner than before, way more expensive.

At least he hadn't seen her. That was a blessing, in a way. He—

Saint turned.

He definitely saw her this time, their eyes locking momentarily down the length of the street before he purposefully looked away. He said something to the girl and she replied, both of them speaking too low to hear.

Then he began to walk, back towards Sannah. He looked so different now, disguised by his beard, but that old gravity he exerted on Sannah was exactly the same. She felt herself trembling as if she had a fever, and couldn't stop.

Saint drew to a halt, a few paces away from her, unnaturally far, his stare fixed over her shoulder, at the building, down into the gutter. Never on Sannah. His skin was porcelain under the streetlight, eyes, hair and beard as dark as a vortex.

"You got an ID?" he finally said, all edge and stone. "So I can let you know if I speak to Raph?"

"No." Sannah could barely force the words out. "I... I don't have a screen."

I thought I'd be staying with you.

He stood silently, frowning, surveying the distance. Thinking she was a filthy, stinky nyaff. An inconvenience. Wanting to get away. The tears began to wobble on her lashes again.

No. Don't cry.

It was too late. Salty water ran cruel rivulets down her face, and she prayed he didn't see.

"We'll have to meet, then," he said, tone impatient. "Come to mine. In a couple of days. Thursday. Okay?"

Sannah nodded, not looking up. "Thanks," she whispered. Then added pathetically, "I don't know where you live."

"The Stanzey building," he replied. "Old Road. Flat 334C."

Sannah nodded again, head drooped, desperately trying to hide her tears.

She looked up just in time to see him reach his beautiful girlfriend. She grabbed his jacket and pressed herself against him before they disappeared into the yielding night.

***

"Here. This one."

Sannah directed the taxi driver towards Dierdra and Faro's block, and watched his mouth thin into a tight line as they turned into the Exotic neighbourhood. She knew he didn't want to come here—he was the third taxi she'd hailed, the only one to have stopped—but she'd jumped into the car and offered him double fare before he had the chance to change his mind.

She also knew she shouldn't spend their precious chang money like she had, all this chocolate and taxis, but she couldn't risk getting to Dierdra and Faro's any later than it was. She was already nauseatingly nervous about turning up at this time.

No, she told herself. It'll be okay. They had to keep late hours, what with Dierdra's work at the Metropol—you couldn't switch from 4am finishes to regular hours on your days off.

Even if not, they'd always been so positive, so supportive of her. That cosy yellow room full of books was like a ray of light in the oppressive darkness of Sannah's past. In a way, Faro and Dierdra were the closest thing she had to friends. She knew there was nowhere she'd be better going, not after the exhaustion of her journey, the emotionally draining reunion with Saint. This was the best possible place she could be.

Except if they've moved house.

If they'd moved, she was dagged. The knife-edge of fate, the thinness of her survival here, pressed sharp and cold against Sannah's throat.

Please don't have moved. Please don't have moved. She chanted it like a mantra as she climbed out of the taxi, shoved her precious digits into the driver's grabbing hands.

Please, please, please don't have moved.

She was unsure for a moment which bell was theirs, it had been so long. Biting her lip, Sannah pressed a buzzer half at random and prayed for an answer.

There wasn't one.

Skit.

What should she do? Panic began to pull at her. Someone rounded the corner, a huge Exotic man, shoulders hulking. He watched her silently as he progressed along the street.

Sannah pressed the bell again.

"Who is it? What do you want?"

The voice from the intercom was male, clearly hostile. She couldn't tell over the poor connection if it was Faro or not.

"Faro?" Sannah said, unable to mask the fear in her voice. "It's me, Sannah. Sannah MaVae. Sorry... Can I come in? Please?"

The intercom continued to crackle, but no voice replied. The huge man stepped into the gutter and began to cross the street, towards her. Sannah's fingers clawed.

Then a click, and the door opened.

Thank God, thank God, thank God. She rushed inside. They were there. Everything was going to be alright.

Muscle memory led her up dark stairwells and along worn-out corridors to their door, and she knocked gingerly. It was grimier in the building than she remembered. Had she idealised this place, just like she'd idealised Saint? Sannah remembered the station at Calside, her dream of getting a flat with Saint, just like this one, and wondered how paltry and miserable that life would have been.

Faro opened the door. He looked similar to her memory of him, his hair slightly longer perhaps, eyes tireder. He was still handsome though, still clean cut, in a grey sweater with a black pin-badge reading: Bavida.

"Sannah," Faro said. He wasn't smiling, but it wasn't unfriendly. "It's been a long time, sister. Long, long time. I suppose you better come in."

He stepped back to let her in, giving her a small hug as she stepped forward. That meagre affection felt so good Sannah thought she might bust out bawling like a baby.

Sannah stepped into the tiny living room, still yellow, still covered in books. Colder than before though, and dustier. Somehow it didn't have that same homely, cosy vibe Sannah remembered as so intrinsic to her stay before. She stood awkwardly on the rug, watching Faro as he closed and bolted the door, a new and complex system of never-ending chains and locks. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something felt very, very wrong.

"I'll go see if Dierdra is... awake." Faro turned to her, his bolting finished, his smile not reaching his eyes. He gestured to the familiar squishy sofa. "Make yourself comfortable."

Sannah sat down. She unzipped her coat, then zipped it again. The room really was cold. She stared at the book spines and tried not to think about how wrong everything felt.

Faro finally reappeared, a slight frown creasing his features. "She's awake," he said to Sannah, false-bright. "Drink?"

Sannah demurred, but said nothing else. She wasn't sure where to start. Faro didn't seem to want to chat either, heading immediately for the small galley kitchen.

Then Dierdra appeared.

It took Sannah a while to recognise her when she emerged from the bedroom. She remembered her friend as glamorous and put together, but the girl in front of her was slumped, eyes sunken, her short afro frizzy and dull. She'd put weight on too—layers of thick jumpers and baggy pyjama pants disguised her body, but her face was rounder, jaw more jowly, her dark skin sallow.

"Dierdra," Sannah said, standing up, trying to hide the fact she thought her friend looked terrible.

"Sannah," Dierdra replied. She walked with a slight limp, her right hip rotating, then sat down in the chair across from Sannah, her face flickering with the ghost of a wince. "We thought we'd never see you again after you ran off with that guy."

"Yeah," Sannah said, trying not to wonder what was wrong with Dierdra, trying not to have a panic attack. "He took me to my sister, like I said, then... I didn't see him any more. Then... I... so much has happened. A group of us went to an island. Far away, not in Albia. We've been living there ever since. Nearly a year now."

It sounded so unreal, when she said it, Sannah could barely believe it herself.

Faro returned from the kitchen and passed Sannah and Dierdra steaming cups of tea. "There you go, Ladies," he said. There was a desperate, fake cheer in his voice, like a paramedic tending an accident victim about to succumb to a fatal injury.

Faro sat next to Sannah on the sofa and let out a low whistle. "That's quite a story, Sannah. Quite something. An island? What do you guys eat?"

Sannah proceeded to tell him about the polytunnel and the sheep, the way they grew their own food.

Faro shook his head in amazement, occasionally looking over to Dierdra. Dierdra scowled at her knees, folding the edge of her jumper repeatedly with her fingertips, ignoring the both.

"Grow your skitting own, kin, that's the way," Faro smiled at Sannah, sipping on his tea. "Ain't no master can hold down the man can feed himself. We're all too disconnected from the land, now. That's how they got us so dependent on their system, can bend us to their will. No-one knows where food comes from no more, how to provide for themselves. You guys are living the dream. Returning to the land." He shook his head, eyes wide.

Sannah smiled weakly, thinking of the bleak mud of Hirta, the never-ending, back-breaking grind. But Faro looked so impressed, his face lively for the first time since she'd arrived, that she didn't dare tell him the truth.

"Yeah," she said. "It's crude."

"Self-sufficiency." Faro nodded. "Disconnect from the whole system. That's a great thing you done, Sannah. A great thing." He pursed his lips. "You know where Albian food comes from?"

"Nutri-labs," Sannah replied. She'd done this in science, back at school. The molecular chemistry that produced edible nutrition.

"Nutri-labs. High technology, out of the reach of the common man. And miles and miles of carb-leaf and protein-root monocrop plantations to feed those labs, out in the territories. Where the people slaving on 'em can't afford to eat themselves."

Sannah glanced at Dierdra as Faro continued. Her gaze was set on the curtained window, mouth puckered.
What was wrong with her? What was going on?

"Oh," Sannah replied, trying to focus on what Faro was saying about territories nutrient farms, rather than her friend's disconcerting expression. "I didn't know that."

"Yeah, sister," Faro said. "I've done a lot of research on this, recently. Picked up some work for this... organisation, since I last saw you. Real licit. A freedom fighting group. Activism. Working to liberate  the oppressed Exotics out in Bidetin, and Tvena. Food's a big part of the colonial-industrial system, y'know? They engineer all the seeds, so you can't replant. Make the people reliant on the corporations to eat. Then they've got them right where they want them. Where'd you guys get your seeds?"

"I'm not sure," Sannah replied, thinking back to their departure for Hirta. Brock had dealt with it all, on Merle's instruction. "One of the Natives—they're Albian Natives, some of the people we went to the island with—she sorted it."

"I'd like to speak to her," Faro said, tenting his hands.

"Her brother is coming. To the city. You can ask him." It hurled Sannah out, thinking of Gaen here. "We need to get some money together, pick up supplies for the island. I was thinking of going back to the Metro, try to make some digits."

Sannah looked over at Dierdra as she said the last part. Her friend wouldn't meet her eyes.

"I don't work there any more," Dierdra said abruptly. She stood up. "I'm going to bed."

Sannah bit her lip as she watched Dierdra limp slowly and laboriously out of the room.

"Is she... okay?" Sannah turned to Faro, heart beating, voice hushed.

Faro looked away, his jaw hard.

"No," he said eventually. "That's the truth of it. She got... some guy, Generic guy, in the club got a little bit... They had to kick him out. Then he waited..."

Faro stopped, his voice breaking.

He stood up, went to the curtained window, shoulders hunched, back to Sannah.

"Never skitting prosecuted, can you believe that? Dagging DNA everywhere, and those corrupt sons of bitches...skitting bulldag piece of skit."

The anger in his voice could have lit a fuse.

"She can't work now," he said quietly.

"Oh no," Sannah whispered, the horror of it all tumbling down around her like a rockfall. "I'm so... I'm so sorry. Are you... are you okay? What are you doing for money?"

"We had savings." Faro didn't turn around, his voice drifting emptily towards the thin piece of curtain fabric between themselves and the cold, dangerous street. "Didn't cover one hundredth of Di's medical bills. We're on a payment plan... I got work, like I say, though it ain't nowhere near as much as Di used to earn. Nowhere near. But we're lucky. Ain't often activism pay. Ain't often writing pay, or any kind of politics. But this organisation I'm working for—Bavida—they bankrolled. Got a benefactor. Enough to pay me and a couple of others."

"That's good," Sannah said hollowly. None of this was good.

"Yeah," Faro said, like he was thinking the same thing. "Well, I'm gonna hit the lats. You're welcome to take the sofa. The blankets are still in the same place. Sorry it's touching cold. We ain't always so good at keeping up on bills."

He turned to face her, mouth curled into a grimace. "Good to see you Sannah MaVae. You and your island gives me some hope in this dagpit skit-hole of a world."

Sannah nodded, unable to make herself speak.

"Goodnight, Sannah," Faro said, as he headed for the bedroom.

"Goodnight," Sannah replied. "Faro?"

He turned towards her, hand on the door. She could read the heartbreak, the torture of what they were going through in his eyes. It made her own pain look like nothing.

"Yeah?" he said.

"What does it mean? Bavida?"

"Enough," Faro said. "It means enough."