The Dark Knight moved.
She did not charge. She walked, the great sword low at her side, and her armored feet came down on the concrete one heavy step at a time.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The wolf broke off to the left, low to the ground, bones glowing under its hide and green light steady in its eyes.
James stayed where he was with the stream running in his hand.
He let them watch her come.
The men gave way.
One stepped back into the side of a car and flinched at the sound he made. Another raised a weapon and could not hold it level. A third was muttering something fast and low that was not an order.
"Hold the line," the leader of the crew snapped. "He's one kid—"
"That's not a kid," the muttering one said.
Then he lost his nerve.
He pulled a pistol, leveled it at the Dark Knight, and fired.
CRACK.
The round hit her breastplate and flattened against the black metal. It dropped and rolled across the floor.
Tink.
She did not slow down.
