The city held its breath the night everything changed. Rain glossed the pavement into mirror aftermirror, and the streetlights bled gold into puddles that Abra didn't bother to step around.

She had walked these blocks a thousand times. Tonight they felt unfamiliar — sharper, narrower, listening. She tightened the strap of her bag across her shoulder and kept moving, because moving was the only thing she trusted.

Then the world tilted. A hand. A voice she didn't know. And before fear had time to finish its sentence, someone else was there — steady, certain, already between her and whatever had been about to take shape.

"You're okay," the stranger said, and Abra believed her before she knew why.