The feint works. Phil grunts as he’s slashed in the leg and then Anders slips out of range before he can react; and before he can even attempt to catch up, the man’s already healed himself. Fuck. God, he loathes magic. He’s never going to get him at this rate. Maybe if he flew, but these corridors would never accommodate that.

He has to turn back. It’ll be far more productive that way.

He goes staggering down the hall. ”Traitor!” he wails, again and again, utterly incandescent with rage and alarm. ”Anders is a traitor!”