Cyrus clipped on his helmet, threw his electric skateboard down, and palmed his remote control as he rolled down the alley behind the Wicked Cat.
He leaped onto his skateboard and soon he was cruising at half speed as he turned left out of the alley onto a residential road.
Man, after all he’d been through, it felt so good to be back on his board. For the first time in twenty-four hours, he was back in control. Wheels rolling on asphalt, fresh summer air hitting his face, hints of coffee grounds and croissants from the Wicked Cat’s morning rush, distant car horns, and nothing but endless city streets, brownstones, shops, and waving trees ahead—this was his kind of morning.
He wove between two cars and ran a red light at an empty intersection before he hit full speed and the skateboard’s
