For a heartbeat he did stay. The pulse beneath his hand rolled through him like the sea against a breakwater, red light swelling and receding, warm and almost gentle. He hated how easy it would be to let it carry him.
Then he yanked his hand back.
The web of threads shivered and blurred, the cathedral of crimson filaments collapsing into darkness as if someone had blown out a thousand candles at once. Air hit his lungs cold and sharp. He staggered a half-step, catching himself before it showed, before he looked like he'd been pushed.
"Enough," he said, and hated that his voice wasn't steady. He forced his fingers to uncurl and forced himself to meet Victor's eyes. "I've seen it."
Victor straightened slowly, his grip falling away without resistance. The afterimage of the god still flickered behind his face; for a moment the man and the storm overlapped and then the man reasserted himself, smiling a little too quietly.
