Albert raised his hand. Quantum energy gathered around his fingers, crackling with power that made reality bend.
The forty-seven infected rushed forward.
Then everyone froze.
Not metaphorically. Literally frozen. Albert mid-motion. Parasites mid-charge. Reaper mid-breath. Everyone except me and one other person.
Grace walked into the room.
My three-year-old daughter. Wearing pajamas with cartoon dinosaurs. Holding her stuffed rabbit. Looking completely calm.
"Mommy," she said. "You're being too loud. I was trying to sleep."
"Grace?" My voice cracked. "Baby, how are you—how can you move when everyone else—"
"Because I'm not like them." She walked past frozen bodies like they were statues in museum. "I'm not enhanced. I'm not infected. I'm not limited by rules you all think matter."
