It was an instinctive response, but she’d been living by her instincts for so long and so successfully—for a certain measure of successful, Zo supposed—that she streaked past the jewelry section with its reinforced display cases and the rubber-reeking aisles of the shoe section before she realized she was running. Once started, well, she had to continue, and she piled through the front doors, the shiny new antitheft sensors on either side moving slightly as she sped past. Glass shattered, her left bootsole disintegrated, and she barely registered the big glossy black limousine idling in the gravel-fringed parking lot.
successfulA limo in North Marquette wasn’t usual even during prom season.
She knew she was much faster than normal people, at least, and she made it to the edge of the park
