[ He follows behind Roland and follows his direction (because what other option does he have?), but he tenses and steps forward the second he pulls out that sword. (What the hell are you doing? What more damage could you possibly do?)

But-- she looks better, relaxed, and his panic ebbs.

Which just leaves exhaustion. Just leaves rage. ]

Sure.

[ His hands clench into fists, but his fingers are slick with blood -- some of it fresh, some of it partially dried -- and the feeling just serves as a reminder.

Fuck, he refuses to look at Lilith, because if he does, he'll do something really stupid and suicidal -- that if they didn't kill him for it, Maya surely would. He keeps his gaze on Maya's sleeping form, watching her face for any signs of discomfort.

Still, his voice is filled with bitterness, wavering and thick and filled with as much venom as he can muster. ]

Just send a single Siren and a random dude to deal with a fucking dragon. That's sure to end well. That's a reasonable way to deal with that fucking problem.

It's dead, by the way. And, hey, thanks for all of your guys' help in taking it down. Your buddy can head up there at his leisure. He can rip its fucking heart out and shove it up his ass, for all I care.