Laughter preceded an unpleasant shock to Misa’s right ankle. She was helpless to fight against her momentum, her outstretched arms the only chance she had to cushion her fall.
Dust spiraled over her, and Misa could feel something give on the base of her palm. A dusty boot stirred dirt into her face, followed by another, then another, trapping Misa on the ground with her forearms protecting her head in fear of clipping her head on someone’s knee. When all the cadets were ahead of her, snickering and taunting, Misa pushed herself up with a rage boiling in her blood.
Tika’s magic picked up her mood, and already unstable, it jerked back and forth within her, vacillating between constraining in Misa’s gut and diffusing to the surrounding environment.
“Are you okay?” Raki aske
