Beside her rose her violin, the bow already to the strings. Sloan realized she had left her gun behind, realized it didn't matter. The violin's song slashed the air, but Sloan ducked under it, weaved around it. Her mind focused entirely on its goal, seemed to see the ripples in air before they truly manifested as strikes, saw the music as though a sheet, its tune and timing predictable and trivial.

(Chapter 26)