"First Sister, do you feel it?" Deena asked Chloe, her face showing nothing. Her hands kept moving.
Chloe's eyes snapped toward her, cold and sharp enough to cut. "Didn't I warn you about addressing me with that title?" Chloe asked, her fire burning low but precise—just enough to scorch a line across an infernal's throat and give Deena the opening she needed. Weak, but exact.
"My tongue slipped," Deena apologized too smoothly. The apology wasn't for Chloe. It was for the title. "First Sister" meant rank, meant responsibility, meant Chloe had to carry them all. Deena knew better than to remind her. "But don't you feel the difference in these disgusting things?"
"No, I don't," Chloe replied calmly, without breaking her rhythm. Her blade came down and split bone. "They're still them. The undead."
