“Frack!” yelled Sandy.
“What?”
“The Riders! We gotta get lost!” Pockets grabbed Juliet by the elbow and headed away from the claxons. Looking behind she saw Sandy leap up onto a window ledge, her dreads swinging with her. A sharp tug pushed Juliet to force her speed: her legs ached in a new way, and for the first time since the bolt, Juliet realised her mortality and her heart skipped.
She had no time to think: Pockets grabbed her wrist, pulled her into an alley and pressed her up against the wall, his hand clamped over her mouth as the horns came closer.

The horns stopped and Pockets pushed his hand harder into Juliet’s teeth. Harsh laughter came from the street, every heckle tainted with a rasp that came from years of hexweed.
“I know I saw em.” A voice came from just beyond the border of the alley and a pointed shoe slid into view.
“Come back, Worm. Varden don’t pay us to chase pretty girls!” The shoe slid further before the second voice sounded “Worm!” and it retracted, relief filling the tiny alley.