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“We improvise it live.” Pauly handed her a slim, battered paperback—Mockingbird, cover worn, pages gutted to hold a wafer-thin transceiver and a micro-SD slot. “Your new copy. Same weight as the real one. Press the title twice if you’re burned; it wipes your last three hours and plays an audiobook. Press the author twice and it pings us with location.” She slid the book into her tote without looking. “And if I press the spine?” “It complains about being objectified,” Pauly said.

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Her father could take a look at the girl in the morning. I looked down at the girl as she snuggled into my warmth. I couldn't believe how relieved I was that she was breathing. Sara knelt beside us. She gasped when she saw the girl but I shot her a warning look. She needed to keep her mouth shut and work. Sara brought out a bottle of colorless liquid from the bag she was carrying. She must have ridden on Aaron's back. "Do you have a blanket?" I asked softly. "No. But Aaron is wearing a cloak," Sara spoke softly, pouring the liquid down the girl's throat.