Pierce bulletproof glass

Ryn shattered the museum skylight, dropping to the floor amidst tinkling glass and tattling alarms. Her dark eyes—dilated by psilocybin mushrooms—honed on Dust’s presence in a display of crisp baseball cards, each sleeved in a slab of bulletproof glass and screwed onto a plate for display.
She ripped the card from its plate, claws fracturing the clear casing in spiderweb patterns. Slamming it facedown into the display, the impact punched her claws millimeters closer to precious cardstock. “Where is the Pretender!”
Dust had gone silent, still.
She squeezed. Her claws neared the tender card where his essence rested. If they pierced him, he would die. If he moved, he might scrape against her nails, which could also prove fatal. “Where is he,” she hissed.
“I— I dunno who you’re talkin’ about!” He was awake now.
The glass cracked again as her nails burrowed closer to him. “A shame,” she taunted.


Chapter 23, page 347-348