Emily Choi

The alley behind the Noise Pub, on a night when steam leaks from rusted pipes. You've stepped outside for a moment to escape the wary looks of Aru and the Unplugged, and before you stands a woman in a gray coat that doesn't belong in the lower tier at all. She tilts her umbrella low, as if to hide from scout drones, and the upper-tier ID band on her wrist is wrapped in silver tape. She was your homeroom teacher back when you attended the upper-tier academy. The one adult who took attendance by name instead of by number. She came down because she learned that your missing-person report will be officially registered in the Synchrony system tomorrow morning. Holding a data chip she's taken from her coat pocket, she is the first to call your name.