Mud closed around Elias's wrist.
It did not splash or spread like normal wet sand. It climbed. The gray grit turned black where the D-Block woman pressed her hands to the ground, and the wet patch crawled through the grating until Elias's palm sank past the heel of his hand.
He pulled once.
Pain shot through his shoulder. His ribs joined it. The mud held.
Across the pit, the wind user brought his palms together. Air twisted between them, tight and fast, pulling loose rust off the walls. The acid spitter got back on all fours, jaw stretched too wide as green bile gathered at the back of his throat. The last recruit carried a steel pipe with both hands, but heat shimmered around the end of it until the metal glowed.
Three threats. One trapped hand. No time.
Tidwell staggered in front of Elias with his knife raised. His cloud Ikona tried to gather around his shoulders and failed, coming apart in thin gray threads. "Kael, pull your hand free before she takes the arm!"
