The dragon opened its mouth and blew fire. A column of white-hot flames Bill owed over Leo, more than he’d ever tried to endure before. He felt as if he were being hosed down with a powerful, very hot fire hose. It stung a little, but he stood his ground. When the flames died, he was perfectly fine. Even his clothes were okay, which Leo didn’t understand, but for which he was grateful. He liked his army jacket, and having his pants seared off would’ve been pretty embarrassing.

The dragon stared at Leo. Its face didn’t actually change, being made of metal and all, but Leo thought he could read its expression: Why no crispy critter? A spark flew out of its neck like it was about to short-circuit.

The Lost Hero, Chapter XII