"I plead the fifth." Flicking another bottle at Ty, this time to land in his lap, Kira tilts his head back on the seat. His throat splits from the starched collar of his shirt, his bow tie the type with elastic to let him move and breathe. He's less staring at the passing lights than feeling the sleek and subtle hum of the engine, half a limo away, and the deeper hum of the city.

They're not getting green lights, and the chauffeur isn't risking his license for a prom.

"I want a smoke," is the warning Kira gives, rolling up from the seat and using fingertips to suede and ceiling to balance on his way to the door. It's timed perfectly with the red light, the car at rest when he slides it open and steps into the street. "And the train's faster."