The colors hit Jin before he could move.
Hae-seong didn't hook his fingers this time. He didn't need Jin's light. He threw his own. The storm of colors pouring off his body gathered in his right hand into a single churning ball of red and blue and gold and grey, and he flung it down the aisle like a man throwing a stone.
Jin dove sideways. The ball of light hit the floor where he had been standing.
It didn't explode. It landed. And when it landed, Jin felt it, even from three steps away. It was grief and fear and guilt. A mother who had watched her children die. A man who had left his brother in a burning building. A girl who had stolen the last bottle of water from an old woman. Thousands of them, all at once, pouring out of the light and through the stones and up into his body like cold water rising through a cracked floor.
He nearly fell. He caught himself on a broken pew and kept moving.
