Every moment felt like a lifetime, almost, in an extremely different way than sitting by Marek's bedside. There was thrill, excitement, and the promise of something no one had had in centuries. That was new, but there were also the threats of negative emotions as well, if Emil had turned out to lie or try to pass of false scales. Most witches and wizards hadn't had the opportunity to work with them, but the wandmaker was one such person. And others had tried to pawn off false goods.
The wounds to his body, most visibly on his face, made her patience tested even greater than before. But it was possible to still be an act, a self-inflicted wound or from something else, such as the battle. Many were in the battle. And it was possible he was too. Felixa hadn't paid attention to that any more than the people she cared about had been in it.
"I took the liberty of ordering an appetizer before you arrived," Felixa replied, "but I would still prefer not to linger." If it were truly a chimaera, if there were truly scales to harvest, Felixa doubted she was going to sleep that night, not until they were all safely in Ollivander's.