Pyro stared at Don and Starboy, hovering just above the wrecked street, brows drawn tight. There was something off about them—about their faces. Not panic. Not shock.
Resolve.
"Guys, what's up—" Pyro started.
He cut himself off mid-word before his head snapped right.
A vine tore out of the ground and came at him low and fast, ripping through asphalt and dust in a straight line.
Pyro reacted on instinct, flames flaring as he twisted aside with room to spare. The vine missed him cleanly and smashed into the remains of a bus stop behind him—KRRAAASH~—metal folding like paper.
Easy.
Even Don, already scanning ahead and thinking three moves out, clocked it as a non-issue.
Then he saw the other one.
It was far. Too far. On the opposite side of the sprout's bulk, half-hidden behind its massive body. At a glance, it looked inert—coiled, pressed tight against the ground like dozens of others.
But the angle was wrong.
