Hands came at us.
Yvaine and I both caught the first wrists before they could land.
One phone flew out of someone's grip and hit the floor with a clack.
The second row surged forward the moment the first took a swing.
It was like someone had thrown a switch.
They shoved in, jostling one another to get closer.
Phones, elbows, bags—everything hit at once.
Yvaine's staff tried to step in.
A couple of them linked arms and moved to block the crowd.
That only made it worse.
The fans shoved back harder, screeching about being manhandled, clawing and thrashing.
Someone shrieked.
Someone else swore.
One girl rammed her shoulder into a shop girl's chest like they were in a rugby match.
It turned into a brawl.
Not even a proper one.
Just limbs flying
