I want to shout back, to tell them they're wrong. That Diogo is a good man, that he protects me, and he protects the city. That they're not doing themselves any favours by rioting. Diogo shoves me into the back of his jeep before I can draw a breath, let alone speak.

"Head down, Taran." He shoves my upper body down into the seat. I curl against the worn leather and cradle my head in my hands in case anyone is stupid enough to shoot out the back window. I'm starting to think ...