She came in fast.
Not the deliberate walking advance of the previous phase—a real approach, closing distance at full speed, both chains extended ahead of her in long parallel lines that swept the space between her and the orbiting ring of metallic objects.
Stonic fired.
Three objects simultaneously—one high, one low, one at wrist height from the left. The firing pattern designed around the information the fight had given him—high to force the chain down, low to force it up, wrist height to arrive in the gap between.
The first chain swept down for the low.
The second chain swept across for the wrist height.
The high one hit.
It connected with Tyra's left shoulder—the same location the first bracket had hit in the opening exchange, the same shoulder, the same force. She absorbed it—the hit real, the shoulder taking the impact, her stride disrupted for a fraction of a second.
She didn't stop.
