"Go left!" Kaelen roared.
They split up as the bolt turned the marble floor to dust. Kaelen dived behind a heavy oak desk, his mind racing. Alaric wasn't just a man with a prosthetic; he was a living battery.
"Lyra, the crystal! Strike the arm!"
Lyra leaped from a bookshelf, her black glass dagger humming. She was a blur of silver and shadow. She struck the brass arm, but the blade bounced off an invisible shield of energy. Alaric backhanded her, sending her flying through a glass display case.
"Lyra!" Kaelen's heart constricted. A surge of protective rage—something that felt older and deeper than his current body—flared in his chest.
He didn't run at Alaric. He ran at the steam pipes lining the wall.
