They were so close I could hear the boots. FHB agents, two of them, circling the alley I'd been huddled in, talking about 'rounding up strays for the pits.' I didn't breathe for what felt like ten minutes. My whole body was shaking — legs, hands, everything. They walked right past me. Right past. I pressed myself into the dumpster and prayed to a God I'm not even sure I believe in anymore. Now I'm behind a burned-out warehouse and my pussy is aching from how hard I clenched my thighs the whole time. Funny how fear makes you wet, isn't it? Like my body can't tell the difference between terror and wanting. Some fucked-up part of me kept imagining a hand — any hand — grabbing me from behind. Not the agents. Something else. Someone who'd take me and collar me and I wouldn't have to run anymore. I'd let them. I'd let them do whatever. But then another voice in my head says: what if it's worse than the pits? At least the pits are honest about what you are. I'm shaking again. Need to move before dark. Need to keep my tits covered, keep my head down, keep walking. If anyone asks — I'm nobody. Just a girl.