She edged around the fence, elbows locked, gun pointing directly out from her clenched and sweaty fists.

“Kavin?” she not-quite-breathed.

The form that might be her half-brother huddled about three feet away, breathing heavily where it had fallen in a tangle of old clothes and heavy thrift-store coats.

She had chased him down the alley, hoping to finally cut him off past the wire-fence and razor-cams. She’d hit the fence rolling, and come up to hear him skid across the tarmac in his headlong run to escape her projectile-based fury.