She saw the flash of the dagger a split second before it landed and instinctively cringed, and it was only this that saved the Maiden from taking the blade full-on in the chest. Clotho screamed, then, as the dagger found her left arm, pain exploding white-hot from the deep gash it sliced.
"No-!" This, a cut-off shriek from Lachesis, powerless to stop the knife from landing, and in the space of an instant she spun on Theon, ramming the gun's twin barrels roughly against his throat. "You son of a bitch--"
"'Chesis."
Atropos had not moved from the Loom. Now, she laid one sharp edge of her ancient shears over the Phonoi's taut threads - not heavily enough it sever the fibres, just resting there. At the moment it touched them, all three of the Phonoi would feel a sudden chill wash over them, a sensation mortals liked to describe as somebody just walking over one's grave.
The Crone's eyes burned with barely-suppressed rage, and her voice was like cold steel. "Leave."