She can feel blood in her nostrils and has to resist the urge to wipe and irritate what is already, surely, broken, groping around instead for her crystal without taking her eyes off Barrow. That look on his face kills her anger, replaces it with worried agitation. Back-up would be good — and then, bizarrely, manifests in the form of Lazar stepping in right as she thinks that, the look on his face more serious than she's seen it before.

"He's— holy shit."

The sound of the chair breaking is hard, instant.

Abby is still leaning against the table, slow to rejoin the fight but wondering if she is even needed — soon she pivots toward Clarisse, crouching beside her. Probably smart to try and get her out of the way.