She turned the corner, her sobs choked and silent, her vision a blur of tears and neon streaks. She didn’t see the stoplight change. She didn’t hear the low growl until it was too close.

A motorcycle, sleek and black, cut through the intersection. The rider, a dark silhouette against the streetlights, swerved violently to avoid her. Tires screamed against asphalt. Metal scraped and groaned as the bike tipped, throwing its rider onto the hard road.

For a moment, there was only the ringing in her ears and the smell of burnt rubber. Then she saw him. A man, sprawled on the ground a few feet away, one arm pinned awkwardly beneath him. A dark streak of blood was already tracing a path down his forearm, vivid against his pale skin and the black leather of his jacket.