The strange woman sitting across from Mac in the cramped booth took ragged, shallow breaths, a streak of crimson staining her sleeve. Through the window, dim fluorescent lights cast a cold glow across her pale, sweating face. His stomach tightened as he fumbled for a napkin, unsure of what else to do.

  “Uhh, take this,” he stammered, passing it to her. She took it without a word, her eyes not meeting his.

  A tall stack of napkins appeared on the table. Mac stopped bouncing his leg and turned his head to see the waitress standing beside them.

  “Hey Diane, if anyone comes in looking for us,” the woman gestured as if she was ordering to-go, “just jab a thumb over your shoulder, and we’ll slip out the back.”

  “Sure thing, hun. I’ll grab some water to help clean that up. Might have a medpen in the first aid kit, or… something stronger if ya need it.” Diane side-eyed the growing bloodstain, her concern a mouthed “wow,” before leaving for the kitchen.

  Mac let loose a shaky breath, his crosshairs flicking to the walls. Holographic ads floated across them, barfing their technicolor promises on everyone in the diner. One caught his eye. Yet another new neighborhood in Dublin’s hills: "Single-family homes near Workday! Five minutes from 580 and 680! Two bedrooms and one bathroom, starting in the low N$2 millions!" Smiling families and self-driving cars posed for the holoscreens, 45-year old yuppies on copious amounts of rejuvenation pills, Ozempic, and antidepressants, their painted minifigure children beside the lovely couple, and their trusty armored personnel carriers in the background, of course all spaced apart on the frame to picometer precision in perfect power poses. He scoffed. That life felt lunar as the cracked vinyl poked his butt. Glasses clinked, and the murmurs of other patrons faded into white noise as he spun out contingencies, eliminating them just as fast. The woman winced, pressing down harder on the wound, her gaze angled at the window but not looking through it.

  “We’re clear for now. Chill for a sec, will ya? And gimme your belt. I needa tie this off if she doesn’t have that medpen,” the woman ordered, her voice cracking at the edges. Her breath hitched, and for the first time, Mac noticed the strain in her eyes.

  Tick-tock! Mac’s guts churned as he checked the clock above the order window.

  Shit shit shit SHIT. What do I do? Stick with her or bail? Stick with her or—

  His runaway train of thought crashed against the moment. A hand waved in front of his face, slightly trembling, snapping him back. “Hellooooo? Dude, c’mon! Belt.”

  Ding-dong! Mac flinched as the door jingled, greeting another customer. Regret stirred the bile rising in his throat. His hands shook, fumbling with the belt buckle.

  Accomplice to what again? “Data recovery?” Yeah right, that was corporate espionage any way you cut it.

  Diane reappeared from the kitchen, sliding the medpen across the table and giving them their cue.

  “Finally, some good news Hannah,” the woman muttered to herself, half-smiling as she grabbed the medpen, ripped the cap off with her teeth, and stabbed it into her arm. Relief washed over her face as the pain began to fade and her breath steadied. Her eyes darted toward the back door, and with renewed strength, she pushed herself upright. Slipping the used needle into her back pocket, she slapped N$100 on the table with her other hand. “Shall we?”

  Sheesh, she must be loaded. So why’s she here?

  Mac hesitated, crunching the last few numbers on his quick and dirty survival calculus. His goosebumps rose with each new variable. If I bail, what are my chances alone against a squad of silenced pistol-wielding corporate janitors in tech goggles? Zero. If I go with her? More than zero. Analytics say: go, don’t punt.

  His lips quivered as he forced the words past the lump in his throat. “L-let’s.”

  Mac followed in Hannah’s calm, silent footsteps out the door, the crash bar not even making a sound.

  “Where are we going?” Mac asked.

  “I know a place,” she replied, weaving them through the trash-filled puddles of her shortcut. At the end of the alley, she pulled her hood up.

  “Why—”

  “Cameras.”

  “Ah.” Mac tugged his own hood up, the hair on his neck rising, as he followed her around another corner. The first drops of a light rain pattered on his hood, and they picked up the pace; the smell of rotten eggs followed, as always.

  At the next light, Hannah pointed at an aging five-over-one across the street. “See that? I’ve got a safe house in there.”

  Mac blinked away some drops that snuck under his hood as he did his best not to gag from the stench of sulfur now rising from the puddles in the potholes. Taking a second look, he saw that it was one of the nicer ones in Salt Ponds. Early spring rain, huh? A walk signal flashed at them across the intersection as the stripes of the crosswalk lit up in a school bus yellow, projections of stop signs flickering around it acting as a virtual barrier. Nobody stops in this neighborhood. Better look both ways… Mac clutched his hood, ducked his head, and jogged with her.

  To Mac’s surprise, Hannah didn’t stop at the gate, continuing down the sidewalk. His nerves spiked again. “What now?”

  “Let’s take a lap, see if anybody followed us from the diner.” She twirled her finger in the air as she kept her brisk pace. She didn’t even check her corners. Weird.

  Mac’s heart pounded as he tried to keep up, water soaking through his shoes. At the end of the block, a middle-aged Latino man struggled to pull a tarp over his grill. The smell of bacon-wrapped hot dogs hit Mac’s nose, and his stomach grumbled.

  “Yo! Gimme a hand,” the vendor called.

  Ignoring Hannah’s glare, Mac stepped up to help.

  “Thanks ese,” the vendor said. He paused, his eyes lingering on the blood washing down Hannah’s sleeve. “Hey, you alright?”

  Hannah glanced down, brushing it off with an smirk. “Oh this? We were carrying a pizza home when some strays jumped us for it. One of them bit me, but my boyfriend pulled him off just in time. Damn shame about the pie, but I wasn’t about to lose a finger over dinner.” Mac felt a nudge at his ribs but ignored it.

  “Sounds rough. Here.” The vendor closed his eyes and shot Mac a sagely grin, handing him two hot dogs wrapped in foil. “Real meat. For you and your girl. Take care of yourselves out there.”

  Mac smiled for the first time that day, the warmth from the hot dogs almost as intense as the sudden warmth in his chest. “Uh, thanks,” he managed, cheeks flushing as he accepted the food. But the sound of an engine rumbling behind them, tires crunching over wet asphalt as beams of light reflected off the puddles, cut the moment short. A black SUV that was too nice for the neighborhood turned the corner, disappearing toward 101.

  “Sweet. Free food,” Mac said, holding up the hot dogs like a trophy.

  Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Think you just shook our tail. Nice work.”

  “What?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s wrap this up before these get cold.” Her lips curled into a smirk. “You were gonna share, right?”

  “Well, the guy did say that these were for ‘me and my girl,’” Mac implied, trailing off.

  Hannah ducked her head, hiding a smile. “Don’t get any weird ideas, champ,” she joked, softly punching his arm as they continued down the street, rain pouring harder.

  “Hannah.”

  He turned to her. “Dave, but people call me Mac.”

  “Suits you,” she said, flashing him another brief smile.

  The rest of the walk passed without incident, the rain soaking into their hoods. They reached the gate, slipped inside and climbed the stairs. Then, she led them to a small lobby with elevators and a metal door that led to the stairway up. Hitting the call button for the elevator, she flipped her hood back, her hair slightly damp where it had slipped. Mac did the same.

  They stood in comfortable, drenched silence. Ding! As they stepped in, Hannah hit a button on the panel without looking, settling into a corner. Mac took the opposite corner for himself and rested his eyes, the motors whirring to life as he braced himself for motion. Hearing another ding, Mac found himself in a dimly lit hall as he walked out of the elevator. Hannah spun her keychain around her finger like a karambit, humming softly as she stalked to a door halfway down the hall. She spun her keychain once more as she checked behind them one last time.

  Hannah slid the key into the lock, pushing around some wet strands that had gotten into her eyes. “Make yourself at home. Shoes off. Slippers by the door.”

  She pushed the door open, and Mac confirmed his suspicions: she was rich rich. Real wood, real leather, real stone tiles, real metal. Nothing printed.

  She’s loaded.

  He picked the coziest looking pair of slippers he saw in the rack. Pink, fuzzy, and just the right size.

  Hannah snorted. “You look ridiculous.”

  “Aw, lay off it, Miss Patagucci. Lemme live a little lavishly,” he laughed as he slipped them on. “We almost died tonight and I still don’t know what for. Care to fill me in?”

  Mac sensed the irritation behind her laugh as she waited for him to clear the doorway.

  “As if I would ever be caught dead wearing Gucci,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  She cleared her throat. “You’re right. Guess I at least owe you that.” Mac stood a little taller as he walked in. She headed to the kitchen. “I’ll grab us something to drink.”

  “Sound.”

  “Where should I—” Mac called from the other side of the kitchen. The fridge light framed Hannah’s face as she stooped to peek in. Wet bangs clung to her forehead, tracing squiggly lines down to her freckles and gray eyes. Angelic. He caught himself staring, shook his head, and erased the thought like a messed-up Etch A Sketch. Spotting the table, he pulled up a chair and swiped aimlessly through his phone.

  “You say something?” Hannah said, eyes still prospecting the fridge.

  “Never mind.”

  She came back with two opened bottles of Deschutes Black Butte Porter. Mac smiled softly as she handed him one. Real beer? This is nice. They made a toast.

  “Oh, these are still warm. Awesome. Talk after we eat,” she said, unwrapping her hot dog and taking a bite. Mac nodded, biting into his own. The snap of the sausage, the bacon, onions, and bell peppers flooded his senses. He tasted his beer. Cream with notes of coffee and roasted malts landed on the beaches of his tongue and began their march down the hatch. His hot dog disappeared in a few more bites. Not to be outdone, Hannah housed hers, taking smaller bites. They sipped their suds in silence, quickly finishing them.

  “Want another beer?” she offered.

  “Yes please.”

  Hannah returned with two more bottles, passing one to Mac. She clinked them together, leaned back and took a long swig, smacking her lips with a satisfied sigh before locking eyes with him, a spark now lighting her gaze.

  She slapped a knee and leaned over the table. “Okay. On to biz.”

  Mac nodded, scooting closer, mirroring her.

  Hannah’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper. “When we were running from those suits, I mentioned recovering some data from CG&E, right?”

  “Yeah?”

  She paused, hiccuping.

  Adorable. Stop it, brain.

  “I lied. I took something from them.”

  I knew it.

  “And honestly, if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have made it out alive. I owe you, Mac.”

  Mac lowered his voice. “So, what did you steal?” He took a sip.

  Rain pummeled the window, the wind rattling the glass. A crack of thunder rolled in the distance. Hannah glanced at the door, and checked his expression again. Mac straightened his posture. Finally, she leaned in closer, her voice barely a whisper. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

  Holding his pinkie out and crossing his heart with his other hand, Mac met her gaze. “I pinkie swear.”

  Hannah wasn’t smiling. “Mac, they could kill us for this.”

  He smiled anyway, softening his voice. “I’ve known. I felt it in my gut when I chose to help you run. ‘Sides, I’m probably super fired tomorrow. Spill.”

  Managing a half-chuckle, she hooked her pinkie with his. She glanced over her shoulder as the lights of a passing delivery drone zipped by the window. Closing her eyes, she took a deep, body-shaking breath. “Woof, okay. Ready?”

  “Hit me with it.”

  “CG&E’s been faking the energy crisis for more than a decade. And you helped me get away with the smoking gun.”

  It took Mac a beat to process. His heart thumped. His eyes widened. “What the FUCK?”