"Screech!" "Move!" Fiona shoved the tallest child and slammed the little one's shoulder toward the curb. "Look out!" a woman screamed. The red sports car slammed through the crosswalk like it didn't expect the city to exist. Fiona planted her feet and yanked three kids back in a single motion. One of them hit her knee. The other wrapped his arms around her neck like a lifeline. "Get down!" someone shouted from the sidewalk. The sports car hit the black sedan meant to block traffic, metal bunched, glass exploded outward, flames bloomed on impact. People screamed. Someone started clapping. Someone started filming. "She jumped—she caught them—" a man kept saying, voice shaking with the kind of pride strangers reserve for villains turned saints. "Is everyone okay?" Fiona barked. Her voice cut through the chaos. Her hand was sticky. A kid's shoe came off. A shard nicked the side of her face. Blood ran into her mouth with a metallic taste but she spat and kept looking at the kids. "I'm fine," the oldest sniffed. "We— we were crossing—" "They weren't supposed to go," said another adult, finally tearing their eyes off the burning cars. "They ran—" "Keep back!" a cop ordered, pushing the crowd away with a legal calm. "Get away from the scene." A firefighter shoved a gloved hand into Fiona's shoulder and steered her toward the curb. "You need to sit—" "I'm fine," Fiona said again. Her ribs complained when