"Sh —" He can't hear her. Can't hear a thing, skull's ringing too loud, hands thrown up over both (one-point-five?) ears. Grain spills into the sands below, black with rot; a trap through and through. "— Th'fuck was that?"

Can't hear himself, or he'd know that he's yelling. Cedric unbraces, squinting through the smog toward her. She's pointing at something, and he can't make out what, but that doesn't stop him nodding as he charges over.

"Do it!" Whatever she's doing. No telling how much time they've got before someone follows the boom.