Jo had jerked back from the one near her, seeing it coming out at her chest before noticing it was the rest of the area. But not catching those bits yet, she'd missed entirely the one that lanced up from behind her half in the wall. She hisses sharply at the score it lands across one shoulder, and it's ducking down slightly, with her hand going there—thin, shallow, just a surprise, just a graze, a fucking little miracle.

She learns fast and doesn't rebound through movement this time. Her fingers are touched red, but it's not deep enough to matter. Only lace into the annoyance already there under her skin, as she starts making it Geralt's way far more carefully, aiming to see if she can keep the fire from touching any of the now far too protruding metal. She'd rather not learn the hard way it reacts to everything that touches it that isn't air.

The question comes even as she's navigating between two that she's just slim up to slide sideways between without touching. "Let me guess—" It's to him, to the spears, and to the life of her that can't not bounce back, even if it's just all in a cloud of judgemental noise. "—one person just happens to fall on one them wrong, and not lift fast enough, and everyone in here is a shishkabob suddenly."

It doesn't help matters that she's pretty sure the further they get, the walls?
They seem closer together, rather than standing their same distance.