Her gaze narrows when she sees me. Maybe we shouldn’t have come here. I take a deep breath and open the door. “What’s wrong with your nose?” the woman asks sharply. I wipe at my nose. The blood is dry and crusted. “Nosebleed.” “Someone hit you or something?” “No.” I shake my head. “I just get nosebleeds sometimes. It’s no big deal.” . . . she’s hiding something, I just know she is . . . “My brother used to get them all the time, too,” I say. And I realize, with a jolt, that he did. “Your brother?” The woman leans forward, her nostrils flaring like she’s caught the scent of a secret. “Why isn’t he with you?” . . . bet anything they’re visiting him in Para-jail. And Paras run in the family . . . I lick my dry lips. “I don’t know where he is. He ran 114 HUNTED away years ago.” Half truths are always more believable than lies—and they’re easier to remember. “Huh,” the woman says. I heft my backpack. “I’ve got a lot of homework to catch up on.”
