“I have to get you to safety first. But I’ll come back for her, I swear it,” he vowed, looking down at my injured hand as I curled it against my chest. There was fear in his eyes over the reality of what that wound could mean. The skin was ravaged, and if there was one thing I knew about Basilisk venom, it was that there was no healing its scars. Healing was a rarity of its own, the gift of such knowledge belonging to the Reapers alone, though they didn’t offer it out too many. And there was one injury worse than any other in this world, the loss of a hand was as bad as it could get in terms
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