A delivery van sat abandoned below her with its rear doors open. Pastries had spilled across the pavement, but Elias knew Mara had not climbed for food. Food did not explain the tension in her shoulders or the way her eyes kept snapping toward every sound. He had only taken a few steps toward the police line when he noticed a young officer near the front raising his rifle toward the branches.
For a split second, Elias froze. Then he lunged forward. “Don’t shoot!” he shouted. The officer flinched, startled, but kept the weapon half-raised. “It moved,” he said, his voice tight. “It looked like it was coming down.” “She’s scared,” Elias snapped. “Not attacking. If you fire now, you’ll either wound her and send her crashing into the street, or panic her into charging. Either way, people will get hurt.”