Jonothon simply nodded and reached for Emma's hand with his own. Grey skin with black-tinted nails, covered in oil-slick fire. Thin, deft, pale fingers. A musician's hands.

He was smiling a little, his expression wry on a face that was only half-there, a wonder his lips were visible at all with the way he'd been utterly hollowed out, and then little more than a skeleton on fire for a second or two before that was swallowed up in flesh again as well.

"I have to admit, now you've got me curious," he replied, nodding. "I have to give props to anybody who manages to get beyond this as it is."