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Snake eyes, in my head
Forked lies, dripping red
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Three teenagers, of varying genders, huddled together in a cave. In the rain. After curfew.
Ginny looked from face to grimy face. Girl to boy. Stranger to almost-stranger. She looked at the drab little shelter, at the angry strokes of lightning, at the pitiful scrap of plastic at her feet.
The Pop Tarts were probably dead by now.
Vaguely, she wondered if she should cry. Her grandfather used to say that it made one feel better—called it "having a good cry." From a purely scientific standpoint, Ginny supposed it made sense. Crying released leucine-enkephalin. An endorphin. At least, that's what the school textbook said. Then again, the school textbook had also said that it was a common symptom of deliria—a sign of heart sickness, of emotional breakdown.
Still, Ginny wondered. It'd been a while since she let herself cry.
And then Skylar's brother suddenly flipped into paranoid-mode, and Ginny decided that she just didn't have time at the moment for silly things like crying. Once again, she reached for a neutral expression. Eventually, her breathing steadied, and the flush fell from her cheeks.
“Who are you?" Skylar's brother demanded, grabbing the strange girl by the wrist. "Are you some kind of Regulator-in-disguise? A snitch? A rat? Speak up, lady–”
"Obviously I'm a spy," the strange girl snapped back, apparently irritated with the relentless interrogation. "They're recruiting fifteen year old girls these days, haven't you heard?" She tore her hand away, glowering.
Ginny peered at Skylar's brother with something akin to curiosity—in all the time she'd known him, he'd never struck her as the suspicious type. Then again, he did nearly assault her when she collided into him earlier.
Hmm. Speaking of, she should probably apologize for that.
But anyway; back to the present.
She examined the girl, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she took in her figure. The girl was tall. Dark eyes and hair. Pointed face. Overall normal appearance, and yet…something bothered Ginny. Nagged at the back of her mind like a frantic, insistent flea.
"His concern is valid," Ginny said finally, voice as blank as her expression. "What are you doing here?"
The girl closed her eyes. "Look, I'm just lost. That's all. Thanks for the help—honestly, I really appreciate it—but I need to find my family."
With that, the girl turned to leave. And it was then that Ginny realized what was bothering her.
The girl was unfamiliar. Unfamiliar.
Ginny never forgot a face.
A million things flashed through her mind at once; almost in reflex, her hand snapped out, closing around the rubbery arm of the girl's coat to prevent her from leaving. The girl turned around again, something like surprise flitting across her face, before it melted into exasperation. She opened her mouth to speak—probably in some sort protest—but Ginny beat her to it.
"I don't recognize you. Where are you from?"
Her tone was conversational, masking the acceleration of her heartbeat. For Ginny could think of two immediate scenarios.
Scenario 1—the girl was telling the truth, but the moment she left she'd get caught by regulators, thus leading them to Ginny and Finnegan's position.
Scenario 2—Skylar's brother was right, and the moment the girl left she'd be heading out to rat on them.
Neither situation was acceptable.
The girl had to stay.
Unfortunately for Ginny and Finnegan, it seemed that the girl had other plans. Ginny wasn't exactly the athletic type, you see, and the strange girl had the advantage in height and strength. Before Ginny could fully comprehend what was happening, the unknown girl had muscled her way out of her grip and was dashing across the beach all full speed.
Won't you look, dear, at my credentials?
Well it's just a faceless figurehead
I've forgotten all those small essentials
In chasing scraps of gingerbread
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