Page 9 of How to Steal a Galaxy

So, vast areas of Yellowstone were left open, and the tourists who paid extra for the luxury of danger signed a lot of waivers before they were allowed to start hiking...and even then, patrols and carefully hidden fences along the paths helped keep the more dangerous mutations of wildlife at bay.

Literal bubbles were around some of the bigger, more well-known sites, with landhoppers carrying tourists from the plaque where Old Faithful used to be to the different sulfuric pools and hot springs. The waterfalls were still there, and although the water was, by that point, absolutely not safe to drink prior to treatment, the falls were still pretty, even through the clear, round protective zones. The tourism board did a lot to make the bubbles as unobtrusive as possible, and it was only in certain light that you could notice them anyway.

The environmental protection zones we had around the full-time staff living areas weren’t as slick as the public-facing ones, but they were pretty sturdy. Around the housing units, there was the highest security—that’s where the fencing was most obvious. To leave it, you had to physically go through a secure door cut into the composite protection material. But the park liked to pretend to be open, so after that, there was another zone that had no physical walls, just a combination of electrified fields and scented pheromone posts that “encouraged” wildlife—mutated or not—from crossing over. It was generally pretty safe during the daylight.

But obviously, none of us wanted to go out during the daylight.

During a party one night, my friends all started daring each other to cross the zones. This was just before the seismic activity got worse and people started evacuating, so I was young enough to think nothing bad would actually happen but old enough to be the exact right level of stupid to risk it.

Getting through the first layer was hardest—there were guards whose job was to make sure dumb kids didn’t do exactly what my friends were egging me on to do. But I’ve always been good at improvisation. I got through the door, then found the boundaries to the secondary zone, the more open area. I decided a full lap around the housing units would sufficiently prove my badass-ness as a preteen who had stuff to prove and no reason to prove it.

Back then, both my parents were alive, Yellowstone hadn’t exploded, the continental United States were still united both literally and figuratively, and while there were things that weren’t the best...that moment, running under the stars, it meant something. I remember pausing, my back to the housing units, just looking up without any barriers and realizing how safe I felt, even if I knew it wasn’t safe, and how big the sky was, how big the Earth was, how small I was.

I don’t know. I can’t define it.

But it meant something.

Even now, I can close my eyes and feel that night. Anything felt possible. All that mattered was being there, knowing that I had done something none of my friends dared to do, that I was unconquerable.

And then I went back inside the safe bubble of my home, certain of its permanence, its safety.

• • •

“You’re a ghost,” Rian says when I circumvent a crowd gathered around something or other.

His words are enough to make me pause.

“I’ve gone over every report we have on you,” he says, matching my pace. “Aside from that spot of vandalism when you were younger...”

“Clean record,” I say.

“Sparkling.” He frowns. Good. That was money well spent. “And you haveverygood friends.”

“I do,” I chirp, then pause. “What do you mean?”

“You’re an obvious security threat. I tried to have your name removed from the guest list and your ticket revoked.”

“Bought and paid for,” I say.

He lifts a shoulder. It doesn’t matter if I have a ticket. Hecouldhave me kicked out of an event like this, what with me being a self-confessed high-security risk.

But apparently, I havefriendsthat kept that from happening. Friends who have, no doubt, also been bought and paid for.

I suppose I should thank my client for that.

Rian’s frown deepens. I slide my finger over the center of his forehead, down between his brows. “You’re going to give yourself a headache,” I say gently.

“Youare a headache.”

“You love me.”

“I’m going to arrest you. You’re here to steal something—”

“As I’ve mentioned.”

“—and Iwillcatch you. And your record will no longer be spotless.”

Until I pay to get it blanked out again.

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