When I snuck out the back, I found my bike, pushed it until I could start it without being heard, and drove off.
I returned to the only place I had felt safe before and where I knew no one would look for me. I went to my old apartment in West Miami.
I’d paid the landlord in crumpled hundred-dollar bills, my face hidden beneath a hood.
I sat on the floor in the corner, my back against the radiator, the only light in the room bleeding from the screen of my laptop.
"I'm sorry, Rico," I whispered.
With a few trembling keystrokes, I bypassed the camera’s encryption.
The sight was enough to make me want to shut the laptop and disappear into the Miami night.
The garage looked like a tomb. The air on the screen seemed heavy with grief. Rat was sitting on the floor by the main bay door, h
