I look at Blue's arms, her neck, the backs of her hands and then I nod. "I can see it." Blue, it seems to me, is exactly the kind of person whose tattoos would be a form of honesty, the way mine are. Maybe the marks aren't literal, especially to someone who doesn't know my story, but every tattoo that I have relates to an event, a person. Blue seems like the kind of person to be open in that way.

I think she'd be beautiful with tattoos. Fierce. Tough as nails.

"Then let's finish our coffee." I'm already down to the last quarter of my mug as it is, mentally cataloguing the bottles of water in my fridge. "And then we can outrun everything."

It's a nice thought, at least.