He and Gunner moved as one, slipping into the narrow gap just as the nearest blade rose and the next began to fall.
The air thickened with sound: the whoosh of steel slicing through space, the heavy clang of its return arc, and the low groan of hidden weights shifting.
Arthur pressed himself flat against a shallow recess carved into the stone,just deep enough to fit his shoulder,while the next blade skimmed by so closely that he felt its wind brush against his cheek.
Gunner mirrored him across that precarious centerline.
"One," Arthur called, eyes locked on the next blade. "Two. Now."
They slid forward into another pocket. The rhythm was precise and well paced.
Mireille and Stone followed closely behind, moving tight and smooth with bated breath. Mireille's boot heel struck the floor a heartbeat before a blade swept through where her ankle had just been.
Stone barely managed to flatten himself into his side recess; the blade grazed his shoulder plate with a metallic hiss.
