Raphael blinked when she fell backwards, but made no comment. Instead he kneeled on the ground in front of her pile of wet skirts, trying to get a good look at her face. There was glass everywhere—not many big pieces, as those had fallen out during their escape and had left in their place gaping cuts that weren't as bloody as he thought they should be. He reached out and brushed a finger against her cheekbone, the edge of his finger tracing the end of a wound where it looked like a rather large shard had torn into the skin and left an empty pocket.

"I'm not sure how much it will hurt," he admitted, his brows knitted in focus as he did his best to count them. It was difficult; even besides the larger cuts there were smaller spots where miniscule shards had obviously cut the skin, and there was no way to tell if they were still there. "Ready?"

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