25The Savior TripTazia sat on a pile of wooden pallets picking mud out of the sole of her boot with a sharp stick. She’d already cleared the top half, pushing the tip around each tread in turn, fascinated by the hexagonal pattern, and was about to start the heel. Her boots weren’t the best, most likely made by some kid in a sweatshop in China. There was already a crack in the leather just above where it met the sole, and dirty wetness had seeped in to drench her sock earlier that day.
She pushed against the mud again, forcing a little pile of it to fall onto the ground in front of her. There was quite a mound now. She’d been here a while.
The Advocate had told her to stay put, so when not picking at her boots, she stared out into the Atlantic Ocean. A few feet away were her guards, two S
