I want to shout back, to tell them they're wrong. That Diogo is a good man, that he protects me, and he protects the city. That they're not doing themselves any favours by rioting. Diogo shoves me into the back of his jeep before I can draw a breath, let alone speak.
"Head down, Taran." He shoves my upper body down into the seat. I curl against the worn leather and cradle my head in my hands in case anyone is stupid enough to shoot out the back window. I'm starting to think leaving the Tower wasn't such a good idea. For weeks I believed that Diogo was exaggerating the riots, that he was being overprotective. Now that I see them with my own eyes, I understand.
I lift my head from the seat, sorrow washing through me. "Diogo," I whisper. He's sitting in the passenger seat covering us whil
