He took a breath.  The motion had stopped.  Stabs of pain shot from his left arm.  He looked over, panicked, to see it pressed between the base of the dark, now-broken, vase and the bent railing of the crashed balcony.  There was no further falling.  The ground was directly beneath them.

“Linus,” Devin said weakly, trying to get the theater fanatic’s attention.  But Mylon, shockingly, still stood upright scanning the letters.  The plunge to the ground seemed to have barely registered with him.  His posture was slightly more crooked and he leaned with a little awkwardness against the rails, but was still absorbed in the precious papers.

It was while looking, aghast, at the impervious Linus that Devin saw the lower half of the larger-than-ever spirit of Rousten sl...

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