“We won’t be.” Elayra watched the station wagon pull away, then carefully slipped the other strap of her pack over her opposite shoulder, trying to distribute the weight evenly over the tender spot on her back. Rain dripped through her hair and down the back of her neck.
	She snorted at Ghent’s comment. “I’m more surprised he hasn’t passed out from lack of oxygen.”
	[b]“Hey, um…”[/b]
	She spun toward him, the tone in his voice making her scowl. “What?” she snapped, the direction of his attention not going unnoticed. She eyed him in his moment of debate, daring him to say what she expected he would say. She raised her chin slightly when he wisely changed his mind.
	She nodded, then followed silently behind him, the patter of the rain drowning out their footsteps.
	She did not dare conjure another rain shield in case anyone else were to see it, and was thankful when the open streets gave way to buildings with awnings. The drum of the rain grew louder beneath the tin overhangs, but at least it gave them a few minutes of a reprieve from the relentless deluge.
 	She remained ever watchful, the whispers of the rain playing tricks on her. More than once, she paused or spun around, ready to draw her dagger and wishing her saber still hung at her belt, only to find nothing more than the rain making its music on a new surface, or the rush of water flowing down the street carrying rubbish in its torrent. One good thing about the rain, though, was it kept the streets virtually empty. Lights glowed invitingly from a few of the shops in the process of opening for the morning, and a couple people rushed along the sidewalks, umbrellas in hand, paying the teenagers no attention. It was still so strange to her, seeing people, real people, on the streets and not having to hide or run the opposite direction.
	When Ghent at last broke his unusual silence, Elayra cocked an ear toward him.
	“Many times.” She shrugged, keeping a careful eye out for anyone else brave—or crazy—enough to be out in the downpour. “But we only take what we need, when we absolutely need it. The Forsaken don’t usually even notice something’s missing.” She paused, realizing Ghent had no idea what the Forsaken were. “They’re what we call the people initially affected by the Curse,” she explained before he could ask.
	She jumped at a clatter in an alley as they passed, but only a stray dog ran away from the road down the narrow alleyway.
	“They’ve basically become mindless zombies.” A mix of disgust and bitterness entered her voice, anger flashing in her eyes. “They go about their lives like they always did, but they don’t really know they’re doing it. It’s just… [i]instinct,[/i] for them.” Her lip curled up with a soft snort. “Unless they so much as sense you’re not Curse-ridden. [i]Then[/i] they’re driven to attack. They’re some of what make towns and cities dangerous.”