We hole up in a decrepit old house in the woods, out past the city limits. I know the place well--well enough that I have a key to the front door on my key ring. Well enough that I hesitate on the threshold before stepping inside.
Too well.
But it's secluded, and I don't think they'll look for us here. At least not for a while. I hope.
Though the truth is, I've sorely underestimated the Protectorate lately. So who the hell knows?
I guide Hericane inside and shut the door. She goes straight to the dust-infested couch and throws herself down on it without a word.
She really did take a pounding back at the stadium. Her hair's a tangled mess, her white costume is torn and smeared with dirt, and her cape is gone. Believe it or not, she even has some bruises on her face. Those A-li
