One moment the girl in orange was there, staring up, confused, and the next she wasn't. Faith peered into the alley, searching for where she might have gone.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. Grabbing her attacker's wrist, she twisted and pinned them down.
There was the stranger. Looking terrified, and rightfully so. Faith's elbow was centimeters away from crushing her windpipe.
Faith stood, not bothering to brush the grime from her less-than-white pants. She extended a hand to the stunned-looking young woman, who ignored it and leapt to her feet.
Faith blinked in surprise. The movement was fast and precise. Could this girl be a Runner? Surely they would've met.
"My name's Faith," she said suspiciously. "Faith Connors. What's yours?"
The girl put a hand to her throat and opened her mouth. No sound came out.
"Can't you speak? Oh, I'm sorry."
The other woman knelt and scraped something into the dirt. Faith leaned in to see it. In chicken-scratch writing, a single word was etched in the gravel.
Chell.