A soft, desperate face appeared at the second-story window.

It was Emily.

Her face was pale, and there was a dark, swollen bruise under her left eye.

She looked down at me, her eyes wide with terror.

She shook her head, trying to tell me to run.

The sight of her face changed something deep inside me.

The quiet gardener died.

The man I used to be stepped forward.

The first guard’s hand touched my shoulder.

My left hand clamped over the guard’s fingers on my shoulder, locking them in place.

I twisted his wrist outward with a sudden, sharp jerk.

I felt the small bones pop in his joint.

He gasped, his balance shifting forward into the cold rain.

I pulled him directly into the path of the second guard’s taser.

The blue sparks hissed violently against the first guard’s wet leather jacket.

His body stiffened, and he began to shake, absorbing the full electrical charge.

He fell forward, taking the taser down with him.

Before the second guard could recover his weapon, I kicked his knee inward.

The joint broke with a loud, wet crunch.