"Throw the egg!"
Something wet hit Laure's shoulder and slid cold down her sleeve.
"Stop!" she spat, but the crowd kept moving like a pack, not listening. People shoved forward with knives of gossip in their mouths. A rotten vegetable exploded against her cheek. Someone laughed. Someone else hissed an order and the laughter turned sharp.
"Shame her!" a woman shouted. "She brings trouble."
"She stole from the cooperative chest!" another yelled.
"She sleeps around with city boys!" came a dozen voices that knew nothing and wanted to know everything.
Laure scrubbed the slime from her face with the heel of her hand and saw Dayana standing on the clinic steps, boots planted, arms crossed like she owned the winter. Dayana's scarf was tight, her hat tilted. She looked over the crowd with that calm and cold look she kept for decisions that killed other people's reputations and fed her own.
"Silence her," Dayana said, and the command slid through the crowd like a blade. Men pushed. A boy pressed into Laure's ribs, bringing up bile.
Rex stood nearby, hands in his pockets, smiling small and practiced. He raised one hand now, fingers fanning as if to shield her, as if his concern could polish the scene.
"Rex—" Laure tried. Her voice came sandpaper-thin.
"Don't make me dirtier than I already am," he said without moving his mouth much. "You won't ruin me."
"You won't dirty my life," Dayana added, voice flat
