There are no words to describe what occurs. Magic? No, surely not. He's no warlock. Those are a prideful bunch, ones who flaunt their abilities whereas he has attempted to hide what he is. So if it is not magic, then what sort of trade would allow silver to cause him harm? How could proffering his soul to the darkness result in that?

She's quick to reach out, cupping his hand within her palm. His skin continues to sizzle and hiss, smoke rising. A beat of hesitance--would she hurt him; how could she hurt him further?--before she lifts the piece from his skin. A chunk of his flesh sticks to it. She wants to toss the silver away, keep it as far from him as she possibly can.

"You would advise me to carry something that would cause you harm." Her tone is sharp and clipped, disbelief ringing true. She lifts her chin as she meets his gaze. "Because--what? You believe yourself weak enough to succumb to what this world does to us? You will not harm me."