One hundred twenty-seven.

That was the number of lives I’d traded for a full belly over the years.

Today would make one hundred twenty-eight.

I’d holed up in the shadowed alcove of the alley since midday, the reek of piss and rotting trash making my eyes water.

My muscles were stiff, begging to be stretched, but I resisted, keeping my gaze fastened to the entrance of the safe house.

The ramshackle town house was tucked between two crumbling apartment buildings, its front door worn enough that it might fall from its hinges with a well-aimed kick.

What was taking so long?

Typically, before the sun dipped below the tops of the skyscrapers and continued its descent toward the horizon, I’d have a fugitive cuffed, dragging their feet, as I pulled them toward the city jail. From there, the fugitive would be transported to Endlock, the prison that lay over a hundred miles from the city border. At Endlock, they would await their fate—death at the hands of Dividium citizens.

But even though Aggie’s informant had said the fugitive would move from the safe house before dark, there had been no sign of him, and at this time of evening, the Lower Sector buzzed with activity. Vendors shouted and pushed rickety carts through the streets as they attempted to make their final sales to the day shift laborers rushing to spend a bit of their meager wages, while dark-hooded figures skulked through the crowds, hoping to overhear information they could trade to the authorities for extra credits.