"Worthless…"
Mikhailis's vision blurred. No, he snarled inwardly, not today. He ripped a squat vial from the inside of his coat—a peppermint-green psycho-gel grenade. Thumb cracked the seal. Vapor hissed out, biting cold and sharp, smelling of crushed mint and ammonia. He slammed the vial onto the stone; it shattered, sending a blue-white shockwave through the spore cloud.
The sweetness died instantly, replaced by bracing sting that made his eyes water. Thalatha jerked as though dunked in ice, pupils shrinking back to focus. She blinked twice, then managed a shaky laugh. "Science wins again," he coughed, waving residual fumes aside.
Her mouth twitched into a grin, small but real. "If you bottle that scent, remind me not to wear it." She stooped, retrieved her fallen arrow, and offered him a nod that said thank you without speech.
