Rebels Georg

Sabine yelped in surprise as a blur of orange vaulted over her table, and a voice hissed “Please don’t tell them I’m here!” It didn’t take long to figure out who the “them” was, because a second later, three angry boys shoved through the marketplace, looking around. One of them approached her stall, and the kid who’d thrown himself over the countertop crouched as low as he could, so the guy couldn’t see him over the table. Sabine didn’t like bullies. And those boys looked like bullies to her. “Can I help you?” Sabine asked. The guy glared at her. “I said,” Sabine repeated, standing, meaningfully resting her hand on a wrench. “Can I help you?” He scowled and stormed off without a word, and Sabine sat back down and then swiveled in her chair to look at the kid and demand answers. And Sabine froze. He was dressed in casual clothes, but they couldn’t disguise him from her. The net connection in her mind whirled, flashing up lines of information in her bionic eyes as her brain put the pieces together. Ezra Bridger. Age—15. Royalty. Orphan. Under the guardianship of the Prince Regent up until his 18th birthday— She realized with a jolt that he was staring right back at her, and she gulped down her disappointment as she wondered what she’d done to give herself away. Maybe one of her sleeves had ridden up when she stood, revealing a glint of metal wrists. Or maybe he’d somehow already heard about the cyborg mechanic in the marketplace. Or maybe— Still staring goggle-eyed at her, he grinned and whispered a breathless, “Hey.” Or maybe, Sabine realized, a little bit relieved and a little bit amused, he just thought she was cute.