Much later, Shou jogs into the grove where Miranda waits. “Nobody saw me.”
His hands are dirty, as are the knees of his trousers and soft-soled booties.
The afternoon light has dunked him in liquid gold—strange and rich. A prince from a faraway, glittering world she can’t see.
How did he dress when he had a choice? Where did he go to school? How many friends did he have?
But Miranda never asks questions she wouldn’t want to answer herself, so instead, “Great,” she says, and forces a smile. “Set it down here. I’ll take a look at the lock.”