"Are you going to leave me here?"
Black Fang hovered nearby, bloodied like a butcher's rag, her whole body trembling yet somehow still upright. No, that's not quite correct.
She was not upright; she was being propped, her battered form balanced in the air only by Quinlan's unseen current of wind magic. Without it, she would've crumpled into the skies like a marionette with its strings cut.
She tilted her head, watching Quinlan's fall with the same interest one might give a passing play. Her mouth curled faintly, almost wry.
"Am I being left behind?" she asked with a tone that was far too calm for someone who was a half-second away from death. There was no pleading in her voice, no desperation to be saved, just the soft, morbid curiosity of a woman too broken to even fear the end.
Lilith's head snapped toward her.
