the car door creaks open, the sound swallowed by the chaos of downtown traffic
She had been walking for hours. Or days. The distinction didn't feel important anymore. Not when every face she passed was a stranger. Not when the city hummed with a familiarity she couldn't explain.
Her legs had carried her here, to New York. The pull had led her like a rope tied around her ribs.
Then the itch started.
Small at first—an irritation beneath her skin. Then hotter. Greener, like a thing growing, winding upward through her spine.
A man in a suit stepped out of a sedan. He didn't look at her. He didn't need to. The heat in her palms didn't wait for permission.
???
the sedan's windshield frosted, then cracked. A thin tendril of smoke curled from the hood.
a woman nearby dropped her phone. A teenager screamed. Sirens—distant, then closer.
And she didn't flinch. Her eyes, empty. Her hands, steady.
Above, across the street, a shadow passed over a rooftop.
