Little John froze for a second, stunned by Spion’s sudden accusation. He saw the girl in the red hoodie reaching for the Mojito and acted instinctively, slamming his shaker onto the counter to grab the glass at the same time she did.
“Let it go,” Little Red hissed, her eyes flashing fiercely. “Or I’ll leave a zero-star review. No—a full negative comment. I’ll report you for ageism, sexism, and clothing discrimination just because I’m wearing a hoodie instead of a silk dress!”
“Miss, please don’t make this difficult for me,” Little John pleaded, though his grip on the glass remained firm.
“Red,” Spion interjected, leaning against the bar with a dry smile. “If you don’t want your mother to find your face plastered across Gossip News for getting caught sneaking cocktails, you’d better let go.”
The girl hesitated. She seemed to be weighing which was worse: the loss of the cocktail or the public embarrassment. “Fine. This place sucks anyway,” she snapped. She turned to her quiet companion. “Sarah, let’s go.”
Sarah looked longingly at the bar, but she stood up to follow. Just as they turned, Spion’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grasping Little Red’s right wrist.
“What’s in your hand?” he asked with a grin, hoisting her arm up. Dangled between her fingers was a dark brown, braided leather bracelet.
“That’s mine!” Little John shouted, patting his bare wrist. He hadn’t even realized it was gone.
“Let me go!” Little Red struggled to pull away.
“Let her go!” Sarah cried, feebly hitting Spion’s arm with her fists. Her strength was so slight that Spion didn’t even flinch. He deftly took the bracelet, released Little Red, and handed the bracelet back to the bartender.
Little Red rubbed her wrist, glaring at Spion. “You are the worst dancing partner ever.”
“And here I thought you were a lady of character,” Spion countered.
The heated exchange was interrupted by a server balancing a tray of golden fries and chicken nuggets. “Your order, miss,” he said, sliding the plates onto the counter. Sarah stared at the food, her breath hitching as the scent reached her. Her stomach let out a loud, traitorous rumble.
Trevor observed the two girls closely. Sarah’s outfit was modest—a gray jersey, simple jeans, and worn blue sneakers. However, the navy down jacket she wore was a high-end luxury brand, its logo visible on the sleeve. Trevor guessed it belonged to Little Red, who was dressed in a premium red cashmere hoodie, designer stone-washed jeans, and a pair of vibrant red suede boots.
“Hey,” Trevor said softly to Sarah, whose hunger was written all over her face. “Why don’t you come to our booth? We can eat and chat in comfort.”
Little Red looked around, realizing they were drawing a crowd. She saw the desperation in Sarah’s eyes and sighed. “Fine. But you’re paying. And we also want burgers, juice, and maybe some tonic.”
“Deal.” Trevor grinned. He shot a quick glance at Daniel, who was just sliding two glasses of freshly made Mighty Sol across the counter, then turned back to the girls. “Follow me.”
Little Red and Sarah shared a relieved smile, picked up their heavy tray, and followed.
They returned to the booth, balancing their drinks and food, where Trevor caught Lady News up on the drama that had unfolded at the bar. She immediately ordered extra salads, smoothies, and sliders for their guests. A moment later, Report Man returned from his own errand, a Mighty Sol in hand.
“I went to the bar and found it empty,” Report Man said, sliding into the booth. “Little John told me what happened.” He watched the two girls wolf down the food as if they hadn’t eaten in days. “You two are starving. What’s the story?”
“I’ll tell you,” Little Red said between sips of her smoothie. “But you have to promise not to tell my mother. Or any of the Styles.”
“We don’t even know your mother,” Spion said with a subtle smile.
“Red…” Sarah whispered, looking nervous.
“We might need their help, Sarah,” Red insisted. “I heard Uncle James telling my dad at a party that these guys are detectives.” She turned to the team. “That’s true, right? You’re detectives?”
“Yes, we are,” Lady News declared, her voice ringing with authority. “We’re the Salon Detective Agency.” The others gave a synchronized nod.
“Okay. My name is Sienna. ‘Little Red’ is just a nickname my grandma gave me when I was a kid, so don’t use it, though you can call me Red,” she added with a shrug. “And this is Sarah. I met her a week ago on the subway. Sienna leaned back, her mischievous eyes sparkling as she began her tale.
It all began on a Friday afternoon. Following a triumphant shopping spree on Fifth Avenue, Sienna decided, on a whim, that she wanted to take the subway home.
“Subway is not for a lady, Miss,” her nanny had protested, laden with shopping bags. “It’s a dark forest full of monsters in strange clothing and disgusting smells.”
“I’ve never taken the subway before. Let me try it—just once!” Sienna pleaded, her eyes wide and shimmering with tears. “Just one stop, and then I’ll come right back.”
Her nanny, who spoiled her more than anyone else, couldn’t bear to see her so upset. “Do you need me to come with you? For safety?” she asked, followed by a harsh cough. “Forgive me, Miss.”
“No need. You’re still sick,” Sienna insisted. “You’d better get in the car and rest.”
“You’re right, Miss. I’ll wait for you in the car. Just be back by five-thirty so we can head home before six—otherwise, your mother will blame me.”
“I won’t let that happen!” Sienna promised. She ran toward the subway entrance like a bird tasting freedom for the first time. However, she had forgotten one crucial detail: cash. She had never handled money in her life; her nanny and driver always took care of the bills. She rummaged through her pockets, pulling out a school card, a library card, shopping mall gift cards, and restaurant memberships, but not a single thing that could get her through a subway turnstile.
“Need some help?” a voice asked. It was Sarah. Under any other circumstances, Sienna wouldn’t have given a second glance to a girl in such ordinary clothes, but at that moment, Sarah looked like an angel sent from above.
“Where’s your destination?” Sarah inquired.
“I haven’t decided. Where do you live?”
“Queens.”
“I’ve never been there,” Sienna said. “And it sounds too far. I have to be back by five-thirty, so perhaps I’ll only go one stop.”
Sarah stared at her. “One stop? That’s it?”
Sienna nodded. “I’ve never been on the subway before. I just wanted to see what it was like.”
“You’ve never been down here?” Sarah was stunned. “Where on earth are you from?”
“A cage,” Sienna answered softly. “Guarded by a wolf. My mother.”
They exchanged a smile, a bridge forming between their two very different worlds. That was the moment their friendship was born.
The next day, Sienna treated Sarah to a fine dinner and learned her story. Sarah’s mother was in the hospital battling cancer, and her father was unemployed, forced to borrow money to cover the mounting medical bills. Because of this, Sarah had to work to help the family survive.
Overwhelmed with sympathy, Sienna tried to offer her money, but Sarah firmly refused. “My workplace pays well,” Sarah insisted. “It’s enough for my father to pay off his debts by next month.” But that changed this afternoon. Taking advantage of her nanny’s lingering illness, Sienna snatched another moment of freedom and slipped quietly out of the house. She wandered through the neighborhoods of Queens, exploring this strange new world, until she finally found Sarah. She was shivering on the street, huddled behind a small stall selling lighters.
“My workplace closed down,” Sarah whispered, her voice trembling from the cold. “Someone was shot in there. I haven’t been paid in two days. I had no choice.”
“We decided to get some dinner, but it was a disaster. I had cash this time, but I’d forgotten all my membership cards—and the cash we had wasn’t nearly enough for a real meal. Apparently, selling lighters isn’t exactly a booming business,” Sienna sighed. “We passed hundreds of restaurants, watching rich people eat through the windows until our hunger became unbearable. That’s when I had an idea. I remembered that the Dressrious Salon doesn’t require a physical card, so I guessed my mom’s account password and logged into the app. We used the last of our cash for the bus and subway to get here, passed the check-in robot with her membership. Now… could you please give us some cash or call a taxi to send us home?” Sienna finished her story, looking quite proud of her own cleverness.
The team exchanged a long, heavy look. They all had the same question, and they asked it in unison: “Sarah, where exactly do you work?”
Sienna didn’t understand the sudden interest in Sarah’s workplace. She had never even asked about it herself; in fact, she took a certain pride of that she never judged a person based on how they made a living.
“A club,” Sarah said, lowering her head. “In an abandoned factory.”