There was dark magic… and then there was this.
Zero people were willing to call a spade a spade: the fuck-noises demon had almost won.
Maddox sat shirtless in the chair with the general demeanor of a bomb with a pulse. Three ribs broken. Two cracked. Internal bruising across the right side of his chest cavity. Aldric began wrapping his ribs in tense silence.
Across the room, Guinevere had been staring at the table hollow-eyed for the last five minutes when nausea hit without warning. Her body heaved so violently she pitched out of her chair, landing on all fours as she fought the urge to not throw up.
Sterling was on his knees next to her in an instant. The moment he touched her back, his gold cuff vibrated at the same intensity it had down in that chamber.
He went still, glancing down at it, then at Guinevere.
"There's dark magic in her," he called. "It's making her sick."
Lux was on her feet before Sterling finished the sentence.
