Séverin swiped one of the Gaia Dots off the ground, wincing a little as he tethered the sphere to the rope. He lassoed the whole contraption around his head, flinging the bottle up where it shattered against the skylight.

The glass fractured, but it didn’t break.

“Again!” yelled Enrique, tossing him another Gaia Dot.

Séverin swung the rope. The window fractured a little more, but still it did not break.

“The cloak—” said Hypnos, pointing at the mess of Enrique’s flame-retardant cloth.

Liquid glass seeped over it, hardening over the golden cloak in the disturbing way of insects trapped in amber. The glass dragon closed in on them. In the glossy sheen of its belly, Zofia could see her reflection stretched and twisted. The heat closed around them. Sweat ran down her back, and her clothing gummed to her skin. She hated the sensation.

Think, Zosia. Think.

She touched the pendants of her necklace. One of them was an explosive, but would it be enough to break the glass? Laila choked on the air, her hand flying to her mouth, and Zofia’s decision crystallized on the spot.

She tore the pendant, flinging it toward Séverin—

“Try this!” she yelled.

He caught it one-handed. At the same time, Zofia felt a whumph! of concentrated air—

At the periphery of her vision, an enormous glass wing shot through with green and gold paint knifed toward her head. One moment, Zofia had only just registered it. The next she found herself slammed to the ground, her skull thudding on the marble. She blinked to see Enrique braced above her, the dragon’s glass wing missing his head by mere centimeters.

“I, um—” started Enrique, rolling away from her.

“Cover your heads!” called Séverin.

A huge shattering sound echoed far above them. The dragon screeched.

Zofia shielded her head as shards of glass rained down above them. The glass dragon howled. The temperature in the room dropped, the heat ebbing away—

The panic she had fought down for so long now asserted itself. Heat on her face, a hollow in her heart left behind from losing Hela’s letter, worry for Laila, Enrique, Séverin, and Hypnos.

Count, she told herself. 13, 26, 39, 52, 65, 78, 91 …

The seconds melted together. The weight squeezing her chest slowly lifted until she could concentrate once more on her surroundings. She lowered her arms, lifting her head. It was silent. The glass liquid had stopped a meter away from them and begun to harden. Zofia looked up to see the enormous glass dragon frozen right above them—its wings outstretched and gleaming, jaws flung wide and talons extended.

Séverin flopped back onto the marble, resting his head against one of the podiums. He kicked out his legs, smoothed back his hair, and flashed a smile.

“Good work, Phoenix.”

Séverin used to say that with frequency back in Paris. The words felt comforting. The longer she looked at him, the more she recognized his smile. Laila had once called it his “sated wolf” grin.