Getting to the palace was going to be a fucking struggle. The plants and fountains were cute. But now they were on a street with people and, for a goddamn glowing city, they sure as hell seemed surprised to see a glowing woman.
Every person they passed stared at Guinevere. Not the polite, fleeting kind of stare that strangers exchange in passing. The full-body, neck-craning, mid-conversation-stopping kind that said a woman was walking through their city glowing like the sun and nobody was sure if they should worship her or call someone.
A voice rang out from behind them, sharp and official.
"Terrace Unit Nine to Central. Visual confirmed on the person of interest. East concourse, level fourteen. Requesting immediate backup and containment perimeter."
A second voice followed, closer.
"Both hands where I can see them. Do not move."
"Oh, shoot," Guinevere said.
