With the bottleneck pointed away from my body, I smashed into the doorframe at full throttle on my way out. Glass shattered. I swung around the outside of the house into a squat and adjusted the part of the bottle I still held, pointy broken side out. With working hands, this would be a lot less awkward. But as soon as movement flashed out the door, I leaped up, my momentum helping to keep the bottle wedged underneath my forearm, and rammed it into something soft and squishy.

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