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He typed back: Who are you?

No, not on the ceiling. It was falling up . It drifted toward the arena lights, wobbled, then shot downward with the gentle urgency of a neutron star. Leo hit it. The car didn’t flip—it folded , twisting through a corkscrew motion he’d never seen, and the ball rocketed off the wall at a 37-degree angle that shouldn’t exist. bakkesmod