The day was bitter and grey when Leya slid out of the Blackwood home.

The chill nipped at her fingers despite having on the thumbed-down leather gloves she'd stolen from a dusty drawer weeks prior.

Her coat wasn't tip-top.

Her boots were stitched up with threads.

But it didn't matter.

Because today---Today she'd been carrying what she'd managed to scrounge up after working night shifts at the club for weeks.

A crumpled envelope pressed under her sweater. Balled bills. A handful ...