Rain had stopped, but the streets still shimmered with leftover puddles, glinting under the flicker of early morning streetlamps. Olive walked with her hands tucked into the pockets of her denim jacket, her hair tied up in a messy bun under a cap. it'd be a streetlight if it wasn't covered.

She didn't want to stand out.

The bus stop was empty. She stood there and waited for the number 14 that would take her down to the outskirts of Montaile district, just past the industrial yards where the ...