Pockets flipped a coin over and over as the red sun crept below the scrapers. Sandy sat on Juliet’s shoulders, twisting her hair into thick braids. The last passers by had disappeared with the curfew and the streets were deadly quiet: all decent people knew to get out of the fresh air when the sun set.

Pockets watched Juliet staring at her arms and wiggling her fingers, a look of childish wonderment plastered to her face. The girl hadn’t stopped looking at her own limbs since the signs had hit cobbles.
“Time to eat,” he grunted, throwing a lump of stale bread at the girls.

“Slim pickins,” Sandy sighed, sliding off her new friend’s shoulders to the pavement. “So what’s ya story, Jules?”
Juliet smiled at her new nickname, looking oddly content for a gutter-punk. “Too long…” She bit out a huge chunk of bread before continuing. “Can’t stay.”
“Oh, so a traveller?” Sandy picked at her own meal.
Juliet looked confused.
“Gypsy?” she continued.
“No,” Jules smiled. “Just on a quest.”
Then the horns screamed.