Page 27 of How to Steal a Galaxy

I walk up the steps slowly, mindful of my dumb shoes. I stop two steps below the kid, wait for him to look up at me.

Those wide golden eyes flick up to me, the lenses of his specs dilating and narrowing again. Bet he’s got some processor linked in. There’s a tiny bump behind his left ear—a subcutaneous receiver that’s perfectly positioned for bone-conduction audio. His specs have scanned my face, and the receiver is reading him information no one but him can hear.

It’s good tech. Better than what I have, usually.

Good tech isn’t abnormal here. The fucking protestors that were paid by the hour had better stuff than I can afford, and they didn’t even have an invite into this shindig. No, the level of tech’s not off.

It’s his clothes.

You can fake fancy clothes. Happens all the time, especially on a planet that cares more about people’s appearance than their welfare.

When it comes to rich people, you can always tell by the clothes. It’s not a matter of style or flashiness, no. It’s a matter of quality. My dress is simple, but it’s made of sea-silk. Poly fibers could have the exact same coloring, but it wouldn’t have flowed the same way over my skin. While I bought it pre-made, it was altered to my measurements, designed for my body.

This kid’s suit was an afterthought. A disguise.

But not his tech.

That’s the key thing. That’s the thing to notice.

“Hey,” I say.

“Fuck off,” the kid says.

“Nice.”

“The party’s downstairs.”

“Is it?”

That catches him up. I’ve got probably ten minutes before Rian’s people notice I’m not somewhere in the crowd, maybe fifteen before they actively start looking for me. Kid doesn’t know that, though.

“What do you want?” he demands.

I hike my dress up a little so I can sit down on the step beside him, leaning my back against the wall, my head almost brushing the underside of the railing as I face the kid. I take a long breath through my nostrils, let it out through my red-lacquered lips. “Don’t do it,” I say.

His jaw twitches. “I’m just sitting here,” he says. And then, “Mind your business.”

I stretch my legs out on the steps. “No.”

“No?” his voice rises. He’s new to this.

“No,” I repeat. “Because you’re about to fuck everything up, and I’m going to stop you before you do.”

“The fuck do you know, old woman?”

Okay, that was uncalled-for. Rude. I lick my teeth, making a smacking noise.

“Listen here, you little fuck,” I say. “If you think you’re the only one who’s noticed there’s no security drones in this corner of the stairwell, you’re dumber than you look.”

He blanches, his skin going a little splotchy, but his shoulders roll back. This one’s all vinegar and piss, and he just wants a fight, no matter what.

Reminds me of me.

So, I forgive him for being a smartass and turn away so he can save a little face. “Came in through the back door,” I say. “Headed straight here. Better tech than you’re used to.” I give him a sidelong glance, notice the way he twitches again. That box in his pocket’s burning a hole right through him. “Jarra?”

“No,” he snarls immediately.

Yes. He’s working with the Jarra. Those fuckers like to do this sort of thing.

---