I reached into my jacket, took out the custom leather fob I’d guarded all morning, and closed her fingers around it.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

Quinn looked down, confused, wiping her cheek, tracing her thumb over the silver pony emblem in the leather, her mind not quite assembling it.

“Look out at the street,” I said softly, loud enough for the crowd to catch.

She turned.

So did Frances.