She had her palm to the forcefield and her back to them; for some reason, the action clicked with a fuzzy memory in Juan's brain. He'd done the same, all those forevers ago.
"Our lucky day," Flynn said, appraising her. Long, curly hair glistened in the half-sun; the outline of curves shaped what should have been a shapeless jumpsuit.
Juan immediately straightened his back, sensing Flynn's... heat. "You don't mean--"
"I don't mean it like that, relax," Flynn interrupted, rolling his eyes. "I just mean we don't have to make two trips. It's always a pain to head to the northern side when the flashie's actually on the southern one." He called to the girl, "Hiya. I'm Flynn. Do you know where you are?"
She didn't turn around. She didn't answer, either.
"We're in the Line," Flynn enunciated slowly.
There was a noise--a whisper, to be precise--in response. It grated Juan's ear.
"She said something," Juan said.
"What did she say?" Flynn asked.
"I think it was 'I know.'"
YOU ARE READING
The Line
Science Fiction[FEATURED] Juan Solo comes from the South Side, a world of deserts and heat. Zachary Flynn was born on the North Side, where the sun never shines and the cold bites. Breaking the law on either Side carries the ultimate penalty: banishment to the L...
