Tess ripped a jagged chunk of concrete from the wall with a force that made it snap clean in her hands. Dust puffed up, and fine grit bit into her palms. Her target—a trooper skimming away on a hoverboard—was seconds from disappearing around the corner. The sunlight glinted off his polished jacket, making him a perfect target.
Her arm went back for the throw.
Lanse's hand shot out like a steel trap, seizing the rock before it left her grip. His eyes widened—not with surprise, but with the sharp, annoyed focus of someone who'd seen her step over the line one too many times.
Without breaking stride, he hurled the coarse rock far out toward the water. It hit the sea with a heavy splash, drenching a fishing boat whose passengers erupted in shouts. Lanse didn't glance their way. No wave. No apology.
"Witch must not have taken her meds today," he muttered, his tone flat and dry. He didn't slow, only tugged her forward by the hand.
