"There was nothing wrong with them," Wrathion growls, tensing up now. Nothing that he could sense, as he has said. No unusual magic traces, no physical problems, nothing to point to this. Yet, all the same, Wei Wuxian was assured.

He eases back slowly into his chair, trying to appear relaxed once more but not selling it. The glass is lifted from where it dangled, and his grip tightens around it as he rests it on the arm of the chair.

"Nothing else," he corrects, and simmers in his own discontent.