Two steps.

The angle of the wall is such that I can still see the Enforcer, the crimson of his uniform like a warning beacon on the edge of my vision.

One step.

As if some inner instinct alerts him to my presence, his head snaps to the side and his black eyes lock on mine. He smiles.

I run.

Although I can’t see him, my ears pick up the scuff and scrape of his shoes on stone as he moves off the stoop. He’s not wasting any time coming after me, probably already feeling the excitement of the chase that will add some fun to his boring night. Maybe a juvenile girl breaking curfew is about the most excitement he ever gets, who knows? My only chance: get out of sight as quickly as possible. I might not be a fighter, but I am a runner.

I hear a shout as I cut a hard right down an alleyway. It’s the obvious move, but the only one available. Lengthening my already-long strides, I abandon my quiet footsteps and thunder down the narrow path between the houses. The alley is longer than I’d like, and I know the Enforcer will enter it before I get to the end.

Get out of sight.

I listen to my own advice and swerve to the left, using a hand on the top of a chain-link fence to propel myself over it. Landing in a crouch on the other side, I make for a gap between the houses, cringing as I hear the rattling of the metal fence in my wake. I feel a sting of pain and warmth on my hand from the sharp barbs at the top of the fence, but I bite it back and dash to the front of the house.

I don’t have time to open the front gate so I hurdle that, too, stumbling when I land awkwardly on the street. Keep moving, I urge myself, using my uninjured hand to catch my balance. From the property I just exited, I hear another shout, this one closer. Despite my efforts, the Enforcer is catching up.

Doing my best to ignore a twinge of pain in my ankle and the burning in my hand, I sprint down the road, running faster than I ever have before, my breathing ragged and gasping, my heart like a jackhammer in my chest. Up ahead there’s an alley on the right and one on the left. Although it shouldn’t be, it feels like a crucial decision. Right or left. Freedom or capture. Neither feels right as I approach the intersection, but I lean toward the left and prepare to dive in that direction, hopefully before the Enforcer gets out onto the road.

Just as I bend my knees and start to push off with my feet, I feel a rough hand grab a handful of my tunic and yank me hard to the right. Unless the Enforcer has been blessed with inhuman speed, it cannot be him; more likely it’s another Enforcer that I didn’t see or that was radioed in by his buddy. Either way, I’m toast.

And then I’m in the alley to the right, a firm hand over my mouth, kicking and clawing and bucking like a wild animal, desperately trying to get loose. A harsh voice hisses in my ear. “Quit yer fightin’ or that Enfo will catch the both of us!”

I have no reason to obey the voice, but instinctively I do. I guess I’ve just always been a rule follower, not one to disobey an order. The second I calm down, the hand moves away from my lips and clamps around my arm, urgently pulling me further into the alley and behind a dumpster. I try to get a look at my captor (hero?) but all I get is a flash of thick, long dark hair attached to a sturdy frame. He’s dressed in all black, nearly invisible even to my used-to-the-dark eyes.

He turns to face me and I catch a glimpse of a very young-looking face, before he whispers, “Under here,” and throws a thick blanket over the both of us, casting us into darkness. “Get down,” he commands.

I’m not sure how a blanket will protect us, but I have no choice but to trust this young stranger, who seems just as intent on avoiding detection by the Enforcer. I sprawl out on the rock alleyway, unconcerned with getting scraped and dirty. The guy with the young face is closer to me than I’ve ever been to a boy, and instantly I feel warm—hot even. The heat might have been slightly pleasant, if not for the putrid odor of rotting garbage that assaults my nostrils.

But now is not the time to complain, so I do my best to breathe through my nose and remain perfectly still. We’re in place not a moment too soon, as we hear the pound of boots on rock, a pause, and then urgent footfalls heading right for us.

They get closer and closer until I swear he’s about to step on us, and then stop with a suddenness that throws my heart into a frenzy. There’s heavy breathing and a grumbling voice. “If I find you, you freaking little blond-haired bitch, we’ll have a little fun before I turn you in, you mark my words. Damn strays, always making things harder than they have to be.” There’s a clang that almost makes me jump out of my skin as the Enforcer opens the dumpster lid. He’s literally right next to us, searching through the garbage in case we’re hiding inside. But why doesn’t he see the blanket with the two human lumps under it?

After a few minutes of rummaging in the garbage, the lid slams shut with a frustrated bang! and the guy mumbles, “…might just have to kill you for putting me through all this trouble…” before scuffing away, his footsteps becoming more and more distant until they disappear into the night altogether.

Neither of us move or speak for what feels like hours, our bodies close and warm and covered in a haze of nose-plugging odor.

Finally, he speaks, his voice a low rumble under the blanket. “You okay?”

It feels like such a strange question after the rough way he manhandled me to safety. And yet, I sense he’s not just being polite, but genuinely wants to know that I’m uninjured. “I think so,” I say, flexing my sore ankle to check for a sprain. It’s twisted, but not sprained. Definitely walkable. “I need to get going,” I add.

“That guy will be back with more Enfos,” he says. “We need a better place to hide.”

“Better than a blanket?” I say, not meaning to make a joke, but unable to stop my mouth.

He laughs softly, which sounds even stranger under the circumstances. “It’s a special blanket,” he explains, which doesn’t explain anything.

He stands up, simultaneously lifting the blanket off of me. The relatively fresh air hits my sweaty skin, immediately cooling it and raising goose bumps. “Here,” he says, offering a hand.

I’m not one to deny a gentleman his small pleasures, so I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. It’s probably just my imagination, but his fingers seem to linger on mine for a split-second longer than is necessary. Ever so slightly, the world lightens, as dawn begins when the panel lights on the cavern roofs switch on. With the added light, I see his face for the first time. He is young, perhaps my age, perhaps a year or two older. He’s also indisputably handsome, with a strong jawline made rugged by the dark stubble of a three-day-old beard, dark brown eyes, and full, pink lips that appear to smile even when I know they’re not. When he tosses the blanket in a pile next to the dumpster, I realize why the Enforcer missed us. The blanket is covered in garbage, to the point where you can’t even see the fabric. With us under it, it would have just looked like a slightly bigger pile of trash, nothing worth investigating.

“Very clever,” I say.

“They only ever check the dumpsters,” the guy says. “They’ve got a lot of firepower, but they’re not too bright.”

“I take it you’ve done this before?”

He smiles, flashing a set of nice teeth. “You could say that. Let’s go inside.”

“The door will be locked,” I say, pulling on the handle of a rusty metal door. As expected, it doesn’t budge. “See.”

“Don’t tell me something as small as a locked door will stop a girl as motivated as you,” he says, laughing at me with his deep, brown eyes.

I shrug, not knowing what to say. I’m too embarrassed to tell him I’ve never done any of this before.