His polished shoes scrabbling for purchase on the marble, his hands pressing behind him, his body scooting along the sideboard a few desperate inches at a time, the patrician composure that had dominated this Hall thirty seconds ago now a memory wearing his face poorly.
He moved like a trust-fund prince discovering the gutter has no valet parking — elbows and knees doing the work his dignity had abandoned.
Phei said, very quietly:
"Stop."
The single syllable landed like bullet and carrying the full seismic aftershock of the Dragon Aura still flooding the hall at city-block scale.
Marcus's nervous system folded instantly, every muscle locking in terrified obedience and his whole body just seized.
For one full second his legs kicked weakly as his conscious mind fought the order. Then his conscious mind lost, and the kicking stopped, and he lay propped against the sideboard, motionless, staring up at Phei with ruined composure.
Phei reached him.
Crouched down.
