There's a little fire in Derrica's aresenal. It's a gift from Matthias, one that came so much more easily to him than to her even after months of practice. The flames gutter in her hands, uncertain of themselves each time. She's reluctant to volunteer them now, and looks to Nell as they draw up along the rail.

"How close do we need to be for you to throw some of their men off the side?"

Assuming Nell could do that. Derrica's pain-blurred recollection of Nell blasting a guard through the doorway might be overstated.