His voice is completely flat.
"Yeah," I say. "Turns out high-heat volcanic oil and weaponized petrochemicals don't play nice together."
"You burned yourself to save my species."
"I burned myself to saveyou."
He looks up at me.
His amber eyes are glowing.
Not orange.
Gold.
Incandescent, molten, devastating gold.
"I should have been faster," he says. "I should have neutralized the enforcers before they damaged the device. I should have—"
"Stop."
He stops.
I reach out with one bandaged hand and cup his face.
He flinches.
Not away.
Into the touch.
Like it hurts.
"You didn't do this to me," I say. "I chose this. I chose to dump that oil into the device core because it was the only way to destabilize the petrochemical matrix fast enough. I chose to risk my hands because the alternative was watching you and every other gargoyle on this continent turn to stone."
His jaw clenches under my palm.
"Your hands are your livelihood."
"My hands will heal."
"You do not know that."
"I know that I'd do it again."
Silence.
His wings rustle.
A low, dangerous sound.
"You should not have had to make that choice," he says.
"But I did. And I made it. And I'm not sorry."
He closes his eyes.
His entire body is trembling.
