Twelve
I trip over my own feet—or over something invisible, since I swear I’ve never been that clumsy—and hit the floor on my side. My so-called useless parkour practice kicks in, and I continue rolling. Onto my stomach, my hands push against the floor, and I spring up onto my feet. I catch a glimpse of Dash sprawled on the floor with guardians tumbling over him before I take off in the opposite direction, repeating “Get away from me, get away from me!” in the desperate hope that my Griffin Ability will appear and give my words actual power. In my haste to get back to the room we entered through, I can’t tell if my voice is any different, but I keep repeating the words anyway. And either it’s working, or these guardians are even worse than the Stanmeade cops, because they’re falling all o
