Zariah’s laugh jolted me enough that I opened my eyes. The glass stayed intact in front of us, whole and not singed or melted. Zion still stood on the dome, his neck spikes raised like the hackles on a dog as he breathed fire at us over and over again. I was too shocked to speak. What magickal glass was this? Why didn’t we use it instead of the dome? Zion gave up on his ineffectual flames and rushed us with his entire body, slamming it into the windows over and over with his wings flared to keep him in the air. Zariah kept laughing as the walls shook, but there was nothing funny about the
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Fuck these boys
