Fisher gently took hold of my chin and tipped my face so that I was looking back up at him. The ink at his throat was going wild; I could see the black linework morphing and shifting over the top of his gorget. There wasn’t much quicksilver left in his eye now, but the small amount that remained was also shifting, forming the geometric shapes and patterns among the vivid green of his iris. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. You’re okay.”
