Chapter 17: The Hall of Weightless Echoes
"If your baguettes are actually that hard, Tybalt, we really need to have a sit-down about your bake times," Red called out, her voice straining as she parried a stone fist with the flat of her daggers. The sound was a sharp clack, like two billiard balls hitting at high speed.
Tybalt didn't answer. He was too busy scrambling backward, his heavy rolling pin clutched in both hands like a club. He looked at the shattered obsidian knee of the warrior he'd just crippled. "It was an instinctive reaction! I saw something long and crusty and I hit it! Can we focus on the fact that the doors are closing?!"
He was right. Behind us, the massive obsidian slabs of the hangar entrance were grinding together with a finality that made my teeth ache. With a heavy thud that vibrated through the soles of our boots, the light of the outside world—the blue sky of Silver-Port and the sun over the ocean—was cut off.
