The ceiling was coming down – not falling down, sliding on tracks. Oh yes, and there were spikes. Spikes!
He was going to become an impaled Hawke pancake – or one of those Orlesian things, an impaled Hawke crepe. He shot a hot glare at Merrill, who stood by the wall, looking guilty.
"I thought I told you not to touch anything!"
She shook her head. "I didn't!"
Like Flame she didn't, but he didn't have time to argue that with the ceiling coming down on them. He pressed his face to the small opening out to the corridor and shouted for Isabela.