I curled in on myself, shrinking into the hood of my sweatshirt, and heaved a shaky breath. Too many eyes, the vendor's and mine on the paper, looked down on me in judgment. But maybe my picture had hung there long enough that it blended in with its surroundings and nobody really looked at it. Wishful thinking? Hell yes.
"Um." I glanced up while I tapped my fingers over the iron in my pocket. For once, there wasn't any need to steal iron. I had a currency card, which I'd stolen from a dead man who'd tried to rape and kill me. "No chains." Those would come later. "Just..." My gaze flitted over several items, each one forming a plan inside my head inspired by my own wanted picture. "That box of washers."
Thanks to Ellison and her iron cubes, I didn't need the washers, but it seemed like a waste not to buy something. At least, that was what I told myself.