Grace moved faster than thought.
“Out, out, out!” she barked, yanking my son’s door open before the driver had even processed the threat.
I grabbed for him on reflex. “Stay down—”
“No,” Grace snapped. “They want the cars. We don’t sit in a steel coffin.”
The air pressure changed—magic thickening, prickling over my skin like a thousand ants. One of the men in the street raised his hand. A faint red shimmer pooled in his palm, coalescing into a sigil I’d seen too many times in Mara’s nightmares.
Council‑grade binding. Portable.
Oh, hell.
“Lia!” El shouted from the far side. “Move!”
Everything sped up and slowed down at once.
I shoved my son toward Grace, using my own body as a shield as we spilled onto the pavement. Horns blared farther down the street; a neighbor yelled something a
