They make noises that sound suspiciously like man giggles. Griffin strides into the refectory, sword strapped on, boots clomping, and spitting mad. Uh-oh. He marches straight to our table, hooks his foot around the leg of my chair, pulls it out with a screech of wood on stone, and then drags me up with a biting grip on my upper arms. My heart starts galloping like a herd of centaurs. I have to tilt my head back to look at him. “Don’t disappear on me, Cat. Don’t.” He drops me back into my chair, and I land on everything that’s sore.
