Seraphine pushed herself up out of the wreckage of the booth, and pieces of red-stained wood fell off her torn veil as she rose.
James's hand was still half-raised, the cast never finished, and he understood exactly how close that had been. A half-step slower on Declan's part, and there would have been nothing left for him to finish raising it for.
Declan stood between them, shield arm forward, boots planted.
Seraphine looked at him first — the wall that had stopped her — and then her eyes came past him to James, and they did not leave him again.
Declan didn't wait for her to decide anything.
"Formation," he said, and the group closed around James without being told twice.
