Pam's burns are already starting to heal, but very slowly, hindered by her not sleeping and feeding for almost two whole days. Everything has simmered into a dull, permeating ache, which she can bear now that the chains are off. As she carefully slips on her jacket (parts of her skin are still tender), she's unsteady on her feet at first. But Eric is as strong as a pillar, and she leans on him until she feels well enough to at least stand on her own.

She looks up at him and all she wants to do is throw her arms around him and get the fuck out of here, but she's aware that some serious shit is going down.


The Magister's screams of pain echo throughout the dungeon.

Strung up with silver and pierced with his own cane.

He shakes and shudders, slumping weakly against the chains holding him upright.


Pam finds the whole thing kind of funny.

"You can dish it out, but you sure can't take it, can you, Magister?" she retorts.

She and Eric have quietly moved toward the rear to watch the spectacle, arms folded, their posture almost identical.