His entire shoulder seizes.
The muscle locks up, going rigid under my touch.
His arm drops to his side, completely immobilized.
"Fuck," he says.
His voice is rough.
Strained.
I pull back immediately, my hands hovering over his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. That was... effective."
"How long until you can move it?"
"Approximately thirty seconds."
I watch as his amber veins flare, pulsing with bright gold light.
The muscle slowly releases, the tension easing as his body overrides the paralysis.
He rolls his shoulder, testing the range of motion.
"Again," he says.
"Cyprian—"
"I need to experience the full technique. Multiple angles. Multiple strike points. My operatives will be executing this in live combat. I need to understand every variable."
I stare at him.
At this massive, ancient creature who is asking me to repeatedly immobilize him so he can teach his team how to fight.
"You're insane," I say.
"I am thorough."
"Same thing."
His mouth curves.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
"Again," he says.
So I do it again.
And again.
And again.
I strike his shoulders, his upper back, the anchor points at the base of his wings.
