She looked outside. Xavi leaned on the car, watching her. She softened focus, let her mind drift, searching for patterns. The sun was stronger now, the light shifting from hazy white to polluted yellow, throwing the crowd into sharp relief. The people looked different, she realized; the unemployed having fallen beneath her gaze over the last few years. Cops tend to only notice the standouts, the people likely to cause problems; there wasn’t time for anything else. She studied them now. At least eighty percent had bald heads with dark blue tattoos adorning the rear that looked like her Marines registration markings. The crowd milled past: men, women, children, all avoiding eye contact.