Valerius's left eye twitches. Barely. An elf twitch. Microscopic. But I see it.
"You're citing ordinance at my gargoyles."
"I'm citing ordinance at YOU. The sidewalk has four new cracks. The curb is chipped. And your vehicle left tire impressions in a street-facing planting strip, which is a Category Two landscape violation." I keep my hands on the gargoyles. Blood runs down my forearms and drips onto stone. "You want to talk about seventy-two hours? File your own paperwork first."
The Audi idles. Valerius's fingers tap the steering wheel. Once. Twice.
He snaps.
The gargoyles go dead under my palms. The tension drains out of them like water from a cracked pot. They fold. Wings tucking, limbs retracting, shrinking down into compact stoneblocks no bigger than shoeboxes. They sit on the asphalt, inert. Lawn ornaments.
"Seventy-two hours, Flynn." Valerius pulls his arm back into the car. "For both of you."
The Audi slides away. Silent. Immaculate.
I stand in the street, bleeding from both forearms, breathing hard, sweat rolling down my neck and pooling in the collar of my t-shirt. My boots are ruined. The right sole has separated entirely. My cargo shorts have a rip across the left pocket.
Unacceptable.
"Holy shit."
I turn. Junia stands on the curb with her coffee mug still in her hand. Her eyes are wide. Her curls are wild. There's a streak of potting soil across her nose and her mouth is hanging open in a way that makes my stomach do something completely unauthorized.
"You just wrestling-matched two magic gargoyles off my lawn."
"Off the sidewalk. The sidewalk is communal property."
She blinks. Looks at my arms. The cuts. The blood.
"You're hurt."
I look down. Green blood streaks both forearms from wrist to elbow.
"It's superficial."
She sets her coffee on the fence post and grabs my wrist.
Her fingers are warm.
Her fingers are warm and covered in dirt and wrapped around my wrist like she has any right to touch me without filing a contact request form first.
"Let go."
"You're literally bleeding."
"It's orcish blood. It clots in forty seconds."
"It's been forty seconds and you're still bleeding."
She has a point. The cuts sting in the open air, thin lines of dark green running down to my knuckles. The stone feathers sliced cleaner than I expected. Enchanted edges. Of course Valerius would spring for enchanted edges.
Junia tugs my arm closer. She peers at the cuts with the focused intensity of someone inspecting root rot on a prize orchid.
"I have comfrey salve inside. It'll?—"
"I have a first aid kit. Organized. Labeled. Alphabetized."
"You alphabetized your first aid kit?"
