Blair's fire hit the pinned front row in a wall of blue-white heat, and the humidity fought her for every inch of it.
Steam exploded off the shelf in a hissing cloud that swallowed Jordan to the waist. Three of the frog-seals cooked where they lay, their grey hides splitting open along the belly seams and spilling green light across the basalt. The other three screamed through the fire and kept thrashing against the shadows, skin blackened but still very much alive and very much annoyed.
"Forty percent!" Blair shouted, and her voice cracked on it. "I'm running at forty percent, and this ocean is personally insulting me!"
"You're still the hottest thing on this rock," I said. "Keep burning, Davenport."
"I will end you when we get home, Monroe."
"Put it on the list, and the list is long."
