"Think we'd have to be overconfident to call down a jinx on our heads," Layla says, keeping her tone light. She studies the first gap between the lasers, then bends at the waist, twisting at an awkward angle to get herself between them.

She will definitely need to add better mirrors to her kit, something that won't be burned through in seconds if she tries to deflect something this high-powered.

It takes several torturously slow minutes to traverse the tunnel, and by the time she does, her skin feels too hot, lips parched, and she can't smell anything over the reek of burned hair where a few wisps had escaped her careful binding.

Given they're still in a sewer, that last part might be a blessing.