Danika removed her card, then turned to Lena. “Give me your card.”
“Erie.”
Tonight, walking wasn’t an option. Her ankle, twisted from a fall on black ice last week, throbbed in protest at the very thought. reload septa key card
“Kiosk only,” he repeated, finally glancing at her. His eyes were tired, apologetic, but firm. “Sorry, miss. City rules.” Danika removed her card, then turned to Lena
“That’s $2.50.” Danica walked to the kiosk, slid her own card in, and tapped the screen with practiced efficiency. Add Value. $2.50. Confirm. She pulled out a two-dollar bill and two quarters from her own pocket—crisp, perfect—and fed them into the machine. The kiosk whirred, this time in approval. Danika removed her card