Though still prone and crumpled on the ground, Zechariah bared teeth when he saw Ben shoulder Elijah.

“Him, too?” Zechariah snarled up at Ben. “Is he black and blue, just like a son to you, too?”

At that, Zechariah struggled to his knees, one sleeve still undone and rolled up. He made it to his feet, right bejeweled fist clenched with rage in his eyes.

His chest still rose and fell rapidly. If anyone deserved to die--

Elijah said something impersonal, appropriate for a large audience. There was a crowd. It was the appropriate thing to say.

One second longer, and he might have been handcuffed too.