She was about to turn back toward her shelter, a carefully reinforced cardboard enclosure hidden behind stacked pallets, when something unfamiliar sliced through the sound of rain.
It was not thunder. It was not machinery.
It was the smooth controlled sound of a high end car engine.
Kayla froze instantly.
Children like her learned early that certain sounds meant danger, and luxury vehicles never came to places like the dump for honest reasons. Her body reacted before her mind did. She slipped behind a mound of discarded tires, curling into herself, holding her breath as headlights pierced the darkness.
A sleek black sedan rolled to a stop near the dumping zone, its clean lines and polished surface looking unreal against the filth around it. The engine cut off, leaving only rain and the low rumble of distant thunder. A door opened, and a woman stepped out, her long coat flapping in the wind, her movements sharp and nervous. She clutched something close to her chest, wrapped tightly in thick fabric, and glanced around as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows.
Kayla felt her stomach twist.