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- What Fathom saw was a bolt of steel flashing past; he heard curtains rip and Listener screaming and ivory pieces cascading across the wood floor.
- No. Not again. Not again.
- He saw Darkstalker stagger back, looking stricken.
- I can’t lose anyone else.
- He saw Lionfish tackle the assassin, who roared and slashed at his face with iron-tipped claws. He leaped forward to help, but by the time he reached Lionfish’s side, the attacker was dead. The unfamiliar NightWing lay at his feet, his neck twisted in a horrible unnatural way.
- “Darkstalker?” Clearsight was still standing, frozen, reaching one talon toward her soulmate. “What — how — ?”
- Fathom took a step back from Lionfish and the dead dragon, and he saw the spear lying on the floor, and he saw that the polished wood was clean, and there was no blood, and then, finally, after all that, he saw that Darkstalker’s scales were smooth and unblemished, and his friend was completely unhurt.
- Darkstalker C25
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