Bayim was there, when she arrived. She recognised him instantly, standing outside the door, shoulders hunched in his gaudy fitted jacket.  She waved shyly, and he walked up to join her.

"Sannah," he said. "Crude surprise."

She smiled, the best she could. "Yeah. I really wanted to say thanks."

He looks different, Sannah thought. No, that's not right. He feels different. He had seemed lighter before, more playful. There was a  shadow to him now, a flatness Sannah couldn't place. I suppose he might think the same about me, Sannah thought. A lot can happen in a few weeks.

They entered the brightly-lit café, and Bayim insisted on buying her a  drink. She accepted gratefully, but the conversation was stilted. She was still doused in Saint, seeing him everywhere she looked. She dreaded Bayim asking questions. There was so little about her life now that was appropriate small-talk.

"So," she got in, attack is the best form of defence, "what were you doing tonight? Hope I didn't disturb you."

"Nah. I was just nesting with my ma. I'd said I would. She wants to spend time with me before..." Hesitation. "She was  getting a bit..." He paused, searching for a word. "Intense, though. So it was good to get away. Felt like we were on top of each other. Too much. I'll still see her in the morning." He played with the rim of his glass.

"You going travelling?" Sannah said, remembering he'd mentioned going away.

"Not quite." His jaw was set hard. "I'm going away."

"Away like...?"

There was an awkward silence, Bayim staring out of the window, not meeting her eye. Then it dawned on Sannah. Forty percent.

"Like away? To prison?"

Bayim gave a fraction of a nod, still staring out of the window. She could see a muscle in his jaw twitching. Sannah felt suddenly afraid of him. He was a stranger, after all. Who knew what he was capable of?

"What... What happened?" Sannah couldn't help the unease creeping into her voice.

"Nothing. It was a mistake."

He clearly didn't want to talk about it, so Sannah stopped asking questions. She thought about the book, saw Faro shaking his head at her in her mind's eye, and mentally rebuked herself for her fear. Just because of his situation, it doesn't mean he's a bad person. Structural racism. Mass incarceration. Remember?  She tried to be more open minded.

Bayim looked pensive, staring out of the window, and Sannah thought again of his kindness on the bus. She was in no danger. This was the least she could do.

She fixed on her best Metropol smile, called over the waitress and ordered two glasses of wine. She didn't ask him any more questions, didn't pry about his past, talk about his future.

She told him about her mum, instead. About her charge, about Laine and Jayce. About leaving the academy, starting at security school.

She rambled on, making fun of her own worst tragedy, smiling all the while, and eventually Bayim's tense shoulders relaxed, his deep brown eyes fixed on her. He even laughed at points, when she did an impression of her mum's accent, told him about almost getting locked in a room in the hospital, after going to the toilet and getting lost.

He was good looking, Sannah decided, in a boyish, charming way. He was older than her, probably the same age as Saint, early twenties. His hair was short and neat, which gave him the aura of a gentleman, and he had an artistic flair, an individuality to the way he dressed, that was very attractive. His smile was sweet, almost slightly cross-eyed, and his laugh was lovely, soft and low. She didn't feel him though. She was so full of Saint she was bursting at the seams, her skin tight with it. Too full of Saint to feel anything but him, sense his every breath, every movement over the miles of their distance.

But she was a good actor, thanks to the Metropol, and she wanted to keep Bayim smiling, make him laugh. So she didn't tell him about the blame. About disowning, never visiting her mother. She kept it light. To at least try and give his last night of freedom some pitch.

That's why when they got up, to leave the café, and he reached out to  take her hand, she didn't let go. Why when he stopped, under a soapy  streetlight, and leaned in to kiss her, she kissed him back, for a few  seconds at least. No longer, because the thought of Saint was killing  her inside, and she knew if she wasn't careful she'd be sobbing again, right in the poor guy's face. But there was no way he would know that. No, she was a good actor, thanks to the Metropol.

So she let him kiss her but she pulled away but she kept his hand in hers, so there was at least some warmth in this cold, cruel world. To pay her dues, try and suggest that everything was normal, life still went on, perhaps, despite everything, things were going to be okay, eventually, one day. That there were fireflies, out there in the night. That there was life among the dead.

And as they walked, and laughed, and he wove her a story about his own mother, her tragic anxieties about the loss of him, her only son, laced with the comedic idiosyncrasies only close family members can see, Sannah began to forget about Saint and her heartbreak and even kind of believe it. That there were fireflies, there was life.

That was until there was a shout behind them, a shout to turn around.  Sannah was confused. Who could want them? They had nothing, were  nothing. The silhouette of a big guy, Generic, muscular, was coming towards them. Asking what they were doing. Telling them to stop. Saint. Her first thought was that it was Saint. She was lousy with him. Her first thought was always Saint.

It wasn't him, of course. That was a mistake.

"Skitting spec," Bayim muttered. "I can't even walk down the skitting street. It's the boars."

"But we haven't done anything," Sannah was confused.

"They're just checking us out," Bayim said, under his breath. "Just give 'em your ID, keep zen. Be polite, no matter what happens."

Sannah's heart caved in. I can't be here. I'm dead. Everything is ruined.

"I can't," she whispered to Bayim. "I ran away from school. If they catch me, I'm gonna get methy'd."

Bayim looked at her hesitantly, fear in his eyes, quickly hidden. "Then I s'pose we gotta run. You go left, I'll go right. He'll follow me  'cos I'm the guy."

"I can't do that." Sannah was horrified. "What if he catches you? You'll be cranked."

The officer was close enough now that she could make out the detail of his face, see the buttons on his shirt.

Bayim laughed humourlessly. "What they gonna do, put me away? I'm already cranked, kin. I've got nothing to lose."

She nodded, squeezed his hand. He counted to three under his breath, and then they ran.

She could hear the policeman shouting behind her, some crashing, like  a door or maybe bins falling over, her feet on concrete, her ragged  breath, her own beating heart. She didn't look back. She ran until she  could run no more, then tucked herself behind a dumpster, shaking,  breathless, throat sore, a stitch stabbing her side. She'd never been so afraid. It actually hurt, the fear, in her neck, her throat, her armpits and chest.

The road was still and silent, blue in the streetlight. Empty. Sannah tried to breathe. She hadn't been chased. She stood up uncertainly, peered around, and, sticking to back streets and shadows, wondered how she could get back to Dierdra and Faro's house.

Then she heard it.

It was a firework, a car backfiring. Someone was racing somewhere, playing a party trick, and they let off a starting pistol.

It wasn't what it sounded like.

Itwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlikeitwasntwhatitsoundedlike

(so why are you crying?)

***

"I don't like it either, but we still gotta tell her."

Deirdra and Faro stopped talking the minute Sannah opened the door. They both looked at her, guilty.

"What?" Sannah said, feeling like she was on a mountain, surrounded by fog, miles away from the rest of the world.

"Dierdra got a message for you. From that guy—"

"Rade's boyfriend came in," Dierdra cut in, "trying to get her to  give a message to you from that guy. With the name. She wasn't gonna do it but I heard 'em so I stepped in."

"Saint?" Sannah's own voice was tinny, miles away.

"Look, Sannah," Faro cut in. "Just 'cos he clicks his fingers you don't have to go running-"

"What did he say?" Sannah barely felt like anything was real, not any more.

"He's driving to Caledia tomorrow," Dierdra said, her face full of  mistrust, full of doubt. "And he wanted to know if you were going with  him."