"They’re busy," Lina whispered. "If this holds…"
"Just a few steps more," said Hank. The reassurance was unnecessary—she was stretched so wide that she could feel/hear it in his mind—but the words were nice to hear, anyway. Ten steps, then five, then one.
Smoothly and swiftly, they turned and ducked in through the gunshop’s door. They were through it, with the door’s warning-bell tinkling and the door swinging shut, before the Feds outside realized where they’d gone. Lina felt their sudden annoyance, turning toward accusations at each other. A glance at the shop discouraged them from getting out and peering through the windows; the door was solid, and the window-display was backed with a floor-to-ceiling opaque curtain. The Feds griped, took notes and subsided, cursing; their assignment
