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“I can’t stay here,” she said, slowly, her voice sounding alien after so long with no one to talk to. But I can’t leave either. If I could get to a center, they’d tell me to go home. Centers were only for those whose homes were elsewhere or destroyed; the broadcast had made that clear. She didn’t know where all the neighbors had gone, but she was beginning to wish she’d asked to go with them. There was safety in numbers, and in speed. Alone, footsore, armed with a pocketknife she didn’t know how to use, the only difference if she left or stayed would be whether she knew the corner she was backed into. She was beginning to hope that some group of refugees would pass by, just so that she could join them.

Oh, there’s a dangerous thought. At this rate I’ll end up joining the riots just to get out of the city, she thought, chuckling in spite of herself as she went back for more jewelry. But as she picked through the rest of the boxes, she found herself thinking about it anyway. She had seen girls looting on the vids, when the newsnet had still been up, and they looked no older than she was, some of them no stronger. She supposed you didn’t have to be a sportsman to light a fuse or point a gun. And there were a lot of people doing just that, to be wreaking the kind of havoc going on outside. If she could—

“No,” she muttered, going into her own room. “No, no, no. I am not going off with those people. I’ll just stay here and pretend I’m not here, and they’ll go away and leave me alone.” But I can’t stay, I already decided that, she thought as she picked up the case with her “real” jewelry in it, the stuff she wasn’t allowed to wear to school. But I can’t leave.

There was another explosion, this one louder. Darica jumped, and the case thumped to the floor, scattering its contents across the carpet. As she knelt to clean up, she realized what was really bothering her. There were no sirens. No police, no firefighters. If no one was cleaning up after those explosions, Mora only knew how far the fires could get, and she didn’t even know where they’d started. If they got here, or if one started close by, she would end up leaving whether she wanted to or not. Better to go on her own terms, with as much preparation and resolve as she could muster, than to be rousted out empty-handed in the middle of an ember-filled night. Or forgotten. That thought sent a chill through her that had nothing to do with the lack of a working heater. If the rioters were around, she was ready to go with them.