The high-pitched, deafening screech of the sirens tore through the grey afternoon air, vibrating against the windowpanes of the small coffee shop.
Erin Volter didn't think. The glass cup she had been wiping slipped from her fingers, shattering into dozens of glittering shards on the wooden floorboards. In a single, desperate stride, she vaulted over the low counter, her green eyes wide with terror. She scooped the silver-haired five-year-old boy off his chair, pulling him tightly against her chest as if trying to merge his small frame into her own.
