Back between the noses of the two cars, I could still hear the chaotic scuttle of feet, the grunt and huff of two people locked in a struggle. Sofía, my mind repeated.

I heard that sound again, something singing through the air, smacking something hard and meaty.

I clawed my way along the side of the car toward the noise, pausing at the sight of my backpack open on the ground there.

My phone. He would’ve taken it already, probably stomped it into pieces. My heart sank into my stomach. I couldn’t call for help. We could make a run for it, but he had a gun.

We could hide, but who knew how long it would be until he gave up, until someone thought to look for us here? Someone other than the people who had Remy locked in an interrogation room and lackeys carrying boxes out of Levi’s house.

Sofía and Bill scuttled into view, backlit by the headlights.

Bill had his arm around her throat, the same as he’d done to me, that rag smothering her face. Sofía was swinging her lacrosse stick, trying to hit him over her shoulder but having no luck.

I shoved myself off the car and barreled toward them. I hit Bill from the side and took him down on the hood of the CRV, and Sofía went skidding through the gravel.

Bill rolled quickly over on the hood beside me, his belly pinning me to the car as he worked at the gun caught in its elastic holster. He swore, his mouth twisting open so that spit glistened in its corners and his spearmint-tinged breath hit my face in a hot rush.

“Sofía!” I screamed, trying to push him off me. My arms were pinned against my chest, where I had no leverage.

Bill let out a satisfied sigh as the gun finally came loose.

“Sofía!” I screamed again, eyes and throat burning. The energy was building in me, shivering to a peak.

Sofía was crawling through the grass after her lacrosse stick. She grabbed it and leapt to her feet, but Bill rolled over, throwing an arm out to hold me behind him against the hood as he raised his gun on Sofía instead.

The energy plumped out, pushing against the constraints of my body, like a sponge filled too fully, too fast, with nowhere to empty.

Sofía froze, her dark hair plastered to her face in rain-soaked clumps and her lacrosse stick hovering over her shoulder.

“Get in,” Bill panted at her, jerking the pistol toward the Cadillac’s trunk. Sofía’s eyes darted to it, then fixed back on me. Her stance widened.

“Drop it,” Bill said, “and get in.” He lifted the gun higher, training it on her forehead.

A burst of energy rippled out through me, overflowing, breaking out of me.

He flinched as the Cadillac roared to life. The headlights flashed on, staring us down from one side while the CRV’s glared at us from the other.

Bill adjusted his papery grip on the gun but kept it trained on Sofía. “Now, Frances, you’re only making things worse.” His thumb massaged the trigger. “Don’t cause a scene.”

The lights all down the train tracks behind us were winking on, piercing through the gray-green storm. A massive shriek tore through the rainfall as the rusted skip cars suddenly lurched to life, riding up the conveyor belt toward the blast furnace.

Bill swore but didn’t move. His car alarm had tripped, the CRV’s too, triggering a strobe effect on the headlights. He spun in place, looking toward the access road he’d taken to get here.

I took my chance: I ran toward the Cadillac, and Sofía dove behind its trunk as Bill’s gaze snapped back and the first bullet went off.

I threw the driver’s side door open and hurtled inside, jerking the car into gear and slamming the gas.

Bill’s eyes went wide in the fluorescent white of the lights as I shot toward him. His hands lifted at his sides and his mouth dropped open in an ellipse as I sped toward him. I could hear Sofía screaming, running alongside the car. “No! Fran, no!”

She darted out in front of me, hands waving frantically, and I hit the brakes as hard as I could, spinning the wheel to miss her.

Lights shattered and popped all down the tracks, and I jumped out of the car the second it screeched to a stop.

Bill was screaming, bent in half with his hands cupped over his eyes. Sofía was holding something small and pink up defensively in front of her as she bent to scoop his discarded gun off the ground.

She looked at me, blood dripping down her cupid’s bow, breathing hard. I froze, staring back at her, shaking from fear and confusion and fatigue and pain.

I had almost died.

I had almost killed someone.

The machinery had all fallen silent and still.

Bill wasn’t screaming anymore, but he’d dropped onto his knees, rubbing fiercely at his eyes.

“Are you okay?” Sofía asked me, voice ragged and breathless.

I nodded once, despite the trembling, despite the weakness and the dark specks dancing at the corners of my vision.

I almost died.

Almost killed someone.

My abdomen felt like it was splintering, poison sloshing in my stomach from the aftereffects of the power.

I tried to speak. No sound came out. I swallowed and tried again. “How’d you do that?” I barely whispered.

“Mace,” she rasped, shaking the pink canister in her hand. “You should really consider getting some.”

She gave a tired, shaky smile. It was a delicate thing, like a newborn bird or a piece of spun glass still wrapped in the tissue paper. Genuine, but breakable.