She ran down the road, past the hospital, past the store where Joan would buy that terrible bread they both hated. The wind whipped past her. She felt out of control, but still pushed in one direction. A steady, demanding stream of chaos dominated her mind. She saw the cameras posted at the stoplights and shifted slightly to bend the light around her. For the next few intersections, she developed a pattern of race and bend, race and bend, until she missed one by just a little and set off the flash. Three months later the good doctor would be shocked to find he had run a red light while he was in a particularly difficult session with a patient.
That mistake aside, it was easy to avoid being detected. Easy to be a shimmer in the peripheral vision of an old man waiting for a bus or a reflection in the window of a shop selling cakes. The cakes looked good. She should stop there on the way back.