She had time to think one thing.
It was a very clear thought. It came to her with a strange cold calm, the way the answer to a sum comes after hours of struggle, whole and perfect and entirely indifferent. *It's red. It's the color of a stop sign. Elena was right. It is not a color. It is a declaration of war.*
The little circle lay on her blouse like a coin. It did not waver. It sat just to the left of her breastbone, bright and small and patient, quivering very slightly with the pulse beneath it, and she found that she could feel the exact place, as a person feels a thumb pressed to a bruise. Distance, perhaps sixty yards. Wind, none. Elevation, a rooftop. She did the sum without wishing to. It came out the same every time.
Hollis Street went on around her. A taxi driver leaned on his
