"You're mad."
The statement is direct, leaving no room for deflection.
He frowns.
"I'm not."
The denial is immediate, automatic, carrying the reflexive quality of responses that don't actually engage with the question being asked.
I give him my most unimpressed look.
"You are."
"I'm not."
"Youare."
"I'mnot."
The exchange would be absurd under other circumstances—two people arguing about whether one of them is experiencing an emotion they're clearly experiencing. But the stakes feel too high for absurdity, the tension between us too significant to simply let pass without acknowledgment.
"Cassius—"
"I said I'm?—"
Whatever he was going to say gets interrupted by the universe deciding our conversation has gone on long enough.
Wind hits Mortimer with force that carries intention behind it—not natural air currents, not the turbulence of atmospheric conditions, butdirectedassault that strikes the dragon's side with enough power to throw him off his flight path.
Mortimer banks sideways.
Hard.
The motion is sudden, violent, the dragon's massive body tilting at angles that shouldn't be survivable for the passengers clinging to his scales. I feel the world shift around me, gravity suddenly pulling in directions that make standing impossible.
My grip on Cassius's hand slips.
No—
The scaled surface that was beneath my feet is suddenly beside me, then above me, thengone entirelyas the dragon's emergency maneuvering throws me clear of his body.
For one suspended moment, I see everything with terrible clarity.
Cassius's expression shifting from defensive anger to absolute horror.
His hand reaching toward me with speed that isn't fast enough.
The others on Mortimer's back, all of them scrambling for purchase as the dragon rights himself.
The lava below, still erupting, still hungry, still waiting.
And me?—
Falling.
Arms reaching for something that isn't there.
Transformed body plummeting toward destruction with velocity that increases with each passing heartbeat.
