He still didn’t quite trust her, even though it had been months since he’d found an ecto-weapon in her room. She didn’t quite dare to use her hoverboard to get home, though sometimes her dad would wake up early and wait for her in the living room. Fifteen minutes ago she’d unpadlocked the bike from its perch on the fire escape. She was hot, sweaty, nearly stifling in her long-sleeved jacket, and it would take hours to scrub the blood out of the sleeve. She yanked the handlebars vindictively as she pulled it through the heavy fire door and into the hallway that led to her apartment. Valerie pushed her bike past the elevator (broken again, for the third time this month) and hauled it, bumping and rattling, up three flights of stairs.
Nothing is as dangerous as an ignorant friend a wise enemy is to be preferred.
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