The market is loud and warm, your basket heavy against your arm, one hand resting on the curve of your belly. Then a stranger's grip locks around your wrist - too tight, too sudden. Before the fear can fully land, the air goes sharp and cold. The man stumbles back like something shoved him. Violet is behind you. Still. Eyes fixed on the man with an expression that holds no anger, no panic - nothing. Just absolute, quiet certainty. She takes your hand gently and says nothing. But somewhere nearby, someone is watching. And the cold hasn't faded yet.