The stump at her shoulder cracked.
Then it grew.
Bone pushed out of the broken end in a white rush, layer over layer, faster than Jin could follow. An elbow. A forearm. Fingers that weren't fingers, long and narrow and pale, knitting together into something smooth. In two breaths, the arm was back, whole and shining in the moonlight, as if he had never touched it.
She flexed it once. The ridges along it rippled.
"Stand down," Jin said.
She didn't answer. She hadn't said a single word since he climbed up here.
She raised the arm.
Jin moved first.
He reached up, grabbed the spike still sticking out of his left shoulder, and pulled it free. It came out with a wet tearing sound and a spray of blood. White pain flashed down his arm.
He didn't drop it.
The moment the spike was in his hand, he knew it. The weight. The balance. The needle point and the jagged back end. It wasn't a bullet anymore. It was a dagger.
THWACK.
