Matt and John tumbled to a stop in the middle of a plaza, between two fountains. Both got to their knees.

Matt chucked one of his batons at John. He turned to stare at it, let it fly through his face. It slammed into the back of Matt’s head. Sent him back to the ground.

“Ah, Matthew,” John said. “I suppose, I cannot blame you fully. We haven’t been talking much since that, um, first encounter. But I’m not falling for that trick again.”