"What are those grubblewits doing? Can't they see she's not made for Eon?"
Raizen's hand moved before his brain did.
He slapped his palm over the pocket. Hard. Pressing the lizard back down into the fabric, fingers clamping over the opening, sealing it shut as quickly as he could.
The lizard's voice cut off.
Nobody reacted.
Kenzo was mid-sentence - still talking to Saffi, something about timelines, patience and how the first attempt was never the real one. He hadn't stopped. Hadn't flinched. Hadn't turned toward Raizen's pocket with the wide-eyed terror of a man who'd just heard a reptile deliver a sentence.
Atman was looking at the canopy, arms folded again, lost in thought. Whatever "black Eon" had done to his understanding of the world, he was still processing it.
Saffi had her arms crossed. Listening to Kenzo. Nodding from time to time.
None of them had heard it.
