Just as his arms are beginning to stiffen again, Barrow stirs long enough to sputter and offer feeble resistance. But Lazar is the stronger of them at the moment, and the method works, and it’s with relatively little drama that he downs the lyrium and settles again.

He doesn’t wake up, which stands to reason— he’s been beyond exhausted by the ordeal— but as time creeps along, his breathing becomes gentler, steadier. He doesn’t seize again.

It’s a good twelve hours later when his eyes crack open with a flinch, like waking up to the worst hangover of one’s life.