I could see three men in the car behind us. One leaned out the window holding a gun. He aimed it at our wheels.
“Sable!”
“I see it! Hold on!”
She swerved again, this time spinning the other way. But the shot went wide and hit the front wheel.
I heard the tire explode beneath us. If we had been going a fraction slower, it would have been an easy stop.
The car lost control.
I screamed. Sable desperately tried to stop.
We hit the dunes hard.
Sand exploded through shattered glass, stinging my eyes, clogging my mouth. The airbags detonated, snapping my head back. For a moment, everything rang.
I tasted blood.
I shoved at the door, my hands clumsy and shaking. When it finally gave, I dragged myself free. Sable was already moving — blood smeared across her cheek, her breath coming hard — but she was alive.
“Go,” she rasped. “We have to go.”
We ran.
The sand sucked at my feet, every step heavy, useless. I couldn’t tell if I was moving at all.
A car skidded to a stop above us. Doors slammed. Boots hit the ground.
“Run!” Sable shouted.
Gunfire cracked through the night — sharp, flat pops that made me flinch. I dove into a bush, branches tearing at my skin.
A bullet struck Sable in the shoulder.
She went down hard.
“Sable!” I screamed, crawling toward her.
Then something changed.
Her skin began to glow.
I froze.
Violet light bled through her veins, bright enough to hurt my eyes. She looked at me once — really looked at me — and what I saw there made my chest seize.
Not fear.
Defiance.
She turned.
Ultraviolet light erupted from her hands.
The guards didn’t scream for long.
They were gone in seconds — scorched into the sand like they’d never existed at all.
