Page 39 of The Outsider

“Youcan read,” I pointed out.

“Surprisingly,” Asha scoffed. I shot her an offended look, but John ignored her.

“Yeah, and I’m the exception, not the rule,” he said to me.

Asha waited, arms folded, in the centre of the square while we walked to the gun stand.

The merchant behind the counter was a thin, bony woman who could’ve believably been any age from thirty to seventy. Her posture said that she was younger than she looked, but her face was deeply lined and pockmarked with scars that made her appear ancient. Her fragile-looking sandy blonde hair was thin and lifeless, and there were gaps in the smile she greeted us with.

“Come to trade, love?” she said, batting her eyes at him.

If John was surprised by her attempt at flirting, he didn’t show it. He was all business, pulling the geese out of his game bag. As he did, the woman’s eyes flicked over to me, and her expression changed from pleasant to fascinated. It was more than a little unnerving.

“You’re beautiful, lady,” she said to me. “Pretty as a picture. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you weren’t real.”

I averted my gaze from her wide, interested eyes, deeply uncomfortable. I hoped that John’s efforts to disguise me weren’t moot. I wasn’t used to feeling different. In the compound, everyone had implants like mine. Smooth, clear skin and shiny hair were the norm, and I hadn’t stood out.

“Yes, well, thank you,” I managed to say, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Such beautiful hair,” the merchant mused. I jerked as I realized the end of my long braid had fallen outside my hood. The woman’s trembling, skeletal hand reaching to touch the end of it. “You could sell that hair, you know. Someone’d pay a fortune for that lovely red.”

I gulped, but managed to answer as politely as I could, “No, thank you.”

I cringed as her fingers played with the ends of my hair, but with how tense the atmosphere was in this place, I didn’t feel like I could say no. In a flash, however, John’s hand had closed around my elbow, deftly moving me out of her reach.

“Don’t touch her,” he said sharply to the merchant, who had the gall to look offended, then turned to me. “Why don’t you wait with Asha? I’ll only be a few minutes. Stay in the square.”

Relieved, I latched onto the out he gave me.

“I will,” I promised, and he nodded before turning back to the gaunt face of the merchant woman.

I returned to Asha’s side.

“Kill time with me?” I asked, and she nodded. We took a five-minute stroll amongst the stalls of the small square, trying not to meet eyes with the Guardians, who watched us like hawks.

We were about to loop back to John when I spotted something strange at the back of the square: a small platform where two brown-haired young women stood, their heads down, their gaze cast on the ground. They held their hands behind their backs, and their clothes were torn and dirty. A large, beefy man with a bushy grey moustache and a feather tattoo stood behind a stall next to them, quietly surveying the market. Unlike the other stalls, there was no signage.

Something about the strange, subservient stance of the women unnerved me. I walked slowly towards the platform.

“Claire,” Asha hissed, her hand closing around my elbow.

I looked back to her, frowning. “Something isn’t right.”

Asha glanced toward the women with pity, but her grip on my arm tightened. I moved slightly to the left to get a better view, and my stomach dropped as I realized that the women’s hands were bound behind them.

“We shouldn’t intervene,” Asha said, and my eyebrows shot up.

“Intervene in what?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, simply tugged on my arm. I tore my gaze from the women on the platform with difficulty. Before we could go back the way we’d come, however, a terrified-looking young woman crossed our path. She wasn’t as emaciated-looking as the other residents—in fact, her complexion looked downright healthy compared to most here—and her clothes were worn, but mostly clean.

She latched onto my forearm, her eyes wild. Instinctively, I tried to pull back, but she held fast.

“Please help me,” she pleaded with me. “My daughter’s been hurt in an accident just that way.” She pointed farther down the path, awayfrom the square. “One of the houses collapsed and buried her. We need everyone we can to help.”

She tugged on my arm, trying to drag me…right towards the platform with the bound women. Desperation marked her every movement.

“I’m sorry, I—” I began.

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