The streets of Figure Eight were quiet this late in the evening, the summer air heavy with the scent of salt and honeysuckle. You and John B walked side by side, the rhythmic crash of the waves the only sound between you. His surfboard was slung under one arm, while you carried your sandals loosely in your hand, letting the cool sand sift between your toes.

The boundary between the Cut and Figure Eight felt almost mythical here, the stark divide of wealth and status fading under the soft glow of the moon. The air was thick with the scent of sea salt, the wind gentle as it swept through the dunes, tousling his hair and tugging at your loose cardigan.

The two of you wandered toward the shoreline, the tide inching closer to your feet as the ocean stretched endlessly before you. John B stepped ahead, tossing his board onto the sand and dropping down beside it. He tilted his head back, resting his weight on his hands as he looked out across the horizon.

You hesitated for a moment before sitting beside him, close enough to feel his presence but careful not to invade his space. The waves shimmered under the moonlight, a silver path leading out into the unknown. It felt peaceful, like the world had momentarily paused, leaving just the two of you and the sea.

John B glanced over at you, his easy smile contrasting with the wariness in his eyes. “You sure you wanna hang out with a Pogue? Thought your people weren’t supposed to cross the tracks.”