[ It is fair to say that Rafa had underestimated the potential impact of those words.

It is also nothing short of a miracle that he drives this car with a vampire's reflexes, because if he were not, they would certainly crash. At this speed, it would almost certainly be fatal.

As it is, his feet move faster than an eye could track. One comes off the gas. The other slams down the clutch, and his hands rapidly steer in the direction of his spinning wheels.

They come to an abrupt, jarring halt by the side of the road. They are slammed against their seatbelts, hard enough to be painful to Rafa, and he's more durable than his foolish fledgling to be.

He removes the key from the ignition, unclasps his own belt, and turns to stare Kavinsky down. He does not shout. His voice does not raise, but it chills by several hundred degree. It's sharp enough to break glass. ]

If you had flown through that screen and flattened your own skull, you would deserve it.

[ The wheels of his car are smoking. When he smells it, his voice chills even further. ]

Dare I invite an explanation?