Kaelin tested their edges with new angles.
He vanished, then returned behind an echo and stabbed its shadow instead of its body. The echo stuttered, not sure which part to rebuild. Veyra shot the shadow and the body at the same time.
Both burst, and the echo finally died.
"Trick it," Kaelin said, pleased. "Lie to its memory."
Clayton did not smile. He felt the ground watch that trick and tuck it away.
He changed tactics.
He sank a web of fine roots into the bowl, so thin they were almost thought. He did not strike, rather, he listened.
He let the echoes walk and each step sent a pattern. The bowl had its own heartbeat, slow, harsh, and steady. The echoes moved in phase with it, like dancers who could not hear anything else.
And then he did one small, quiet thing.
He made the heartbeat miss a beat.
The next echo stepped into a rhythm that was not there and stumbled. Torren took its head.
