She led you past a cluster of marked riders, all of them with those dark, empty stares you'd heard about. Your mother's voice echoed in your head: Don't make eye contact. Don't draw attention.

A group turned toward you. Six of them, all in flight leathers, all with the kind of easy confidence that came from surviving here longer than you had.

He was the only one not wearing a serious expression. Dark hair, bright eyes, a lopsided smile that seemed perpetually amused. He leaned against the stone fountain with a lazy sort of grace.