“Oh, please,” the smuggler drawled. “You are not my—” He craned his neck, scanning the crowd over the tops of their heads. “Ahhh, fuck. He’s gone. I think we lost him.” I grabbed him by the arm and shoved him to the left, out of the flow of bodies all shuffling to go and get their morning allotment of water. “You might have,” I said. “I don’t lose people. He ducked down here just now, right before you were about to lie and say I’m not your type.”
KINGFISHER PLEASE I DONT NEED GO SHIP THIS
