Sly’s own lunge was carrying her off her chair, to the right. Nothing she could do to stop it. As she fell, still in slow motion, she saw Falcon. Somehow he’d managed to drag himself up onto his elbows, managed to bring the sniper rifle to bear. He was staring at the ruins of Knife-Edge, his mouth hanging open, eyes glazed with agony, face pale from wound shock and loss of blood. She saw him slump down again.