Heat blurred the world into a wavering haze.
Adrian stared at the remaining regulators until the symbols crawled against his vision.
"Your math is terrible," he told Bloodstar.
"My honesty is impeccable," Bloodstar replied. "You asked for odds, not comfort. Choose, Adrian. He will not hold that state forever. Nor will the Essence tolerate your fingers on its pulse for long."
Wyatt's breathing had gone ragged. Each inhale dragged Essence-laden air into his lungs; each exhale steamed in a plume of shimmering gold. The aura around him had tightened into a whirling cocoon, threads of flame weaving in an intricate spiral around his core, never quite touching it.
Never quite.
His lips were peeled back from his teeth in a silent snarl.
"More," Wyatt grated. "I can take more."
Adrian's fingers dug into the stone.
Forty percent stronger. Forty percent crippled. Twenty percent dead.
Those were Bloodstar's numbers.
The numbers that mattered were different.
One Adrian.
One Wyatt.
