The garden path was unrecognizable.
The bench where Andrea had nearly sat minutes ago was gone. Splintered wood and twisted metal scattered across the pavement.
The car that had come screaming through the dark was now a mangled wreck, its front end wrapped around a reinforced utility pole. Steam hissed from the split engine, rising into the night.
It was a scene of total destruction. A human body should have been crushed beneath the chassis or flung like a ragdoll into the darkness.
Instead, there was movement near the skid marks.
Alina stood up slowly from the side of the wreckage. Her movements were fluid.
Her expression was flat, almost bored, as she reached down to dust a layer of grit and asphalt from her pristine clothes.
She straightened her coat, her fingers lingering on the fabric Andrea had touched just moments before.
"So," she said over the hiss of the ruptured engine, "it's you."
