The monster doesn't say anything to that, and Quentin swallows hard against his suddenly dry throat. His hands are sweaty, sticking together as he moves through the tuts, the ones they all practiced until the tuts became second nature. In another world and in a different time. When all of them had thought that the Beast was as bad as it was going to get.

But Quentin's hands blur through the motions, even when he feels so scared he's about to throw up. Because the monster came and it found him again, like it's always going to find him. Even here.

With one last twist of his fingers, Quentin cups one hand around the other and pushes, magic flowing out from his hands in a sudden burst of battle magic and the energy wave heads straight for Crowley with the force of desperation and naked fear.