It happens in a blink—Malachite sits up instantly, pulling in air in a single massive gasp. The glow of his eyes flutters as his eyelashes do—he looks around at all of us blearily. “What did I miss?” he manages. Lucien’s posture eases, Fione going still. “I’m sorry, Sir Malachite!” she blurts. “It was my fault—I didn’t check the bookshelf for a trap before you—” “Vachiayis!” Malachite snarls as he shifts, clutching at his leg. “What in the Dark Below happened to me?” “You might be resistant to fire, but it turns out you’re not immune to explosions,” I joke softly. Malachite shoots me a pained
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