One of them laughs under his breath.
“Pretty thing,” one calls.
I don’t answer.
“Don’t act deaf.”
I cut right at the next corner, aiming for a busier lane, but one of them speeds up enough to step partly into my path. He’s smiling. There’s nothing nice in it.
“You looking for work?” he asks.
My mouth goes dry.
“Move.”
His eyes flick to my chest, then to my arm. He’s checking for any sign I’m protected. There isn’t one.
“I could help you out,” he says.
The second one comes up behind him. Not touching me. Not yet.
“You got that hungry look.”
My pulse slams hard enough to make my hands shake. I jerk sideways before the first one can block me in, and I move fast toward the lit-up main lane. Toward people and noise.
The men don’t follow once I hit the crowd. One of them laughs again. Then the first one calls after me.
“Won’t be so picky much longer.”
I don’t stop walking until my lungs burn. By the time I reach my building, I’m shaking. Cold, fear, and fury all tangled together ugly enough to make me feel sick.
I hate that they saw it. I hate that they were probably right about the look on me. I hate that every day this city strips one more layer off me and leaves me standing there trying to act like I still have choices. Like I still have dignity. As if both of those things haven’t already started wearing thin.
The building rep is waiting near the entry corridor. He isn’t cruel. That almost makes it worse. He just looks tired. Efficient. Like this is one more task on a list and I am not the first woman this week to stand in front of him with bad news written all over her face.
“Keandra Valein?” he asks.
I nod.
He taps his screen and sends something to my wall unit.
“You are under a final review. Payment must be received by eighteen hundred tomorrow, or your room will be subject to reclaim.”
My throat tightens so fast it hurts.
“I need more time.”
“I don’t have more time to give.”
“Just two more days.”
His face doesn’t change.
“If there was room for flexibility, I would tell you.”
I want to beg. I hate that I want to beg. I hate him for making me stand here and not beg too, because I can see from his face that it wouldn’t matter anyway.
In the end I swallow it down and say, “Understood.”
