I'm going to have to draw out the splinters first. Even in witches, they tend to migrate. It's going to hurt.

( He sets the lens aside, kneeling down again. He holds a hand over the wound in his chest. )

Invenio silvam caeli.

( Slowly, splinter push their way out of vessels, surfaces, and crevices inside his body, one by one sliding out, sticking to his palm. )

Arce sanitatum.

( The small openings from the slivers left behind repair themselves. Ezra's palm catches fire and the splinters go up in smoke. He exhales. )

I'm going to have to pull the bullet out.