For a second after the slap, the street hushed in Ethan's head. Horns, sirens, voices—muted. His cheek burned. The woman in front of him had his last name and a spine he didn't recognize.
“Dashcam," the officer said, practical as gravity.
Raj angled the device. The officer leaned in; his partner joined him, shoulder to shoulder. Pedestrians craned. Vivian touched her temple and checked for blood again like it might finally arrive.
“Play it from fifty yards out," Amelia said.
Raj tapped. The video rolled—white coupe weaving, horn, the cut across a taxi, the wave that wasn't a wave but a command. Audio picked up through the glass: Raj's “copy," Amelia's “stay steady." The coupe flared again, swerved, braked, boxed them, then jerked its nose into the town car's front quarter.
“Pause," th
