The alley door slams behind me before I can think.
Rena's clinic is three blocks back and I'm running. Again. The exam table was still warm when I bolted. She'd whispered the word I didn't want to hear. Pure. My kid's bloodline isn't just old. It's unmixed. The kind that gets you killed or collared.
Someone's following me.
I don't turn around. I learned that the hard way in my first week underground. You turn, you show fear. You show fear, they know you're prey. So I keep moving. The rain started an hour ago and now the streets are slick with oil and neon reflections. My boots slip twice. My hand goes to my stomach without thinking.
Bad idea. That's a tell.