Shifting Fates by Nadia Simonenko, Aubrey Rose Page A

of the distribution centers, the frozen bags of food pulse forward on metal conveyor belts. Soldiers watch the packages, guns at their side.
    As I pass by, my foot seems to catch on the sidewalk and I stumble sideways. My cane clatters on the sidewalk and I fake a fall against the old man, clutching his coat.
    “Ah!” I cry out as if in pain while my hidden hand sweeps the knife out and slices into his bag. My fingers have already plucked out a small package of rations by the time the man helps me up.
    “Are you alright, miss?” he asks. There is a note of genuine sympathy in his voice that gives me the smallest twinge of guilt.
    “I’m fine,” I say, tucking the ration package safely and securely into the depths of my coat pocket while I use his arm to balance myself. “Just a crack in the sidewalk, that’s all.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “I’m fine, really, I’m fine.” I hurry away and around the corner, hoping not to be recognized by any of the soldiers patrolling the food distribution. I’ve come here too many times, made too many small disturbances to not be noticed eventually. The others are waiting, though, and I cannot come back empty-handed.
    Only two more blocks and I’ll be at one of the entrances. My feet begin to hurry of their own accord, and when I round the corner I am moving too fast to avoid the tall patrol guard coming around the other way.
    “Ow!”
    We crash into each other and I fall. Stupid, stupid ! I have so much momentum that I can’t right myself without lunging out to catch the guard’s arm.
    Big mistake. He catches my hip with his other hand and I feel the hidden pouch inside of my robe begin to shift upward. His hand is pressing against the fabric of the pouch, upending the contents. They’ll fall out, unless—
    “This isn’t your day, huh?” he says. I lean into his hand, trying to balance the rations packages so that they don’t tumble from the pouch. I can’t lean any farther in; I’m nearly pressed against him at this point.
    “Hey,” the guard says. I look up into his eyes, light brown and concerned, and a shock runs through my chest. It hits me so hard that I can’t help but jerk my arm up to ward him off. My hand hits the pouch and it turns upside down.
    Three rations packages go scattering on the icy sidewalk, along with the small doll I stole for Kit.
    I’ve never done anything so clumsy. I am not clumsy. I have instincts that any human would kill for. And yet here I stand, utterly frozen, astounded at how badly I’ve messed this up. Kit’s face flashes in my mind: her bright red hair, how I thought the doll would match it perfectly.
    Stupid . My fingers reach out for the packages, but they are already exposed. The guard grabs my arm.
    The guard takes a step back, still holding my arm with one hand as he looks down at the packages. He is vulnerable, his body open.
    There. It’s time. He knows. Break his arm first, take his gun, kill him, and run.
    The thoughts run through my mind, a carefully planned scenario that I’ve never had to actually act out. My pulse quickens, my skin tight over my limbs. I’m ready to shift into my wolf form if I need to.
    Looking up at him, though, I can’t bring myself to raise my arm, to snap his elbow. Instead I pull back and break his hold with a twist of my arm, leaping away from him and bending to snatch my cane up from the ground. I am crouched, ready to run, when I look up and see his eyes.
    They’re light brown, flecked with gold, and even in the dim light they shimmer and glow. Something in them draws me close, makes me want to go back to him, to lean forward and see who he is, who he really is, under the soldier’s uniform. His face is mesmerizing, and I breathe quickly, trying to will myself into action. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed . He’s huge, and I am losing the element of surprise with each second I wait.
    Huge. Strong. His shoulders are broad and heavy, and I can’t keep my eyes from wandering