“I can’t get the rickshaw driver’s attention!” she called. The footsteps were gaining on them. Zofia had an idea. From her sleeves, she pulled out the matches, struck one against her teeth, and set it to the outer sheath of her dress before jumping in the middle of the road. She tore off the first, burning layer, which now flared into a long column of fire. The rickshaw driver braked hard. “I got his attention,” announced Zofia, stomping the fire out with her foot. The rest of her dress, made of Forged flame-retardant silk, gleamed, completely unsullied. Laila’s mouth fell open, but then it
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