---
Rusk's knees forgot math. He sat down fast and decided to hate jars later.
Edda recovered in one clean pivot and went for the jar, ignoring John's shoulder, which was a mistake. John's free hand caught her wrist. He did not squeeze. He pulled the baton instead. The metal leapt from her hand into his field and stuck there like a spoon to honey.
Edda blinked. "Okay," she said. "That was new."
Fizz, still in glass, pointed a paw and roared in a tiny voice, "And now you apologize to the hedge." He held up a paw like a magistrate with a scroll. "I have a list."
Brann had seen enough. He dropped a net from the ceiling, a folded square of weighted silk with copper thread. Circle three speed. It fell like a quiet curtain toward the boy and the jar.
John kicked the table hard. It flipped, a wooden wall. The net hit it, draped, and slid. Copper kissed wood. Wood did not care.
